


Double Edged Sword

by AngrySapphicHeda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bottom Lexa (The 100), CEO Lexa, Detective Clarke, Detective Murphy, F/F, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, I have no idea about Police Departments and what have you, Lawyer Anya, Lexa is a rich bich, Past Costia/Lexa (The 100), Slow Burn, TW for descriptions of dead bodies and vomit for now, Top Clarke Griffin, Trust no bitch in this fic, detective Raven, just an obsession for crime shows, not even me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23165188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngrySapphicHeda/pseuds/AngrySapphicHeda
Summary: Detective Clarke Griffin is a integral part of the one and only detective team in the Police Department of the small town of Arkadia, that sits right at the base of the imposing Mount Weather.Alexandra Woods is the new CEO of Trikru Inc. after the death of her father, leaving her as the last of her bloodline. Determined to fulfill her father’s promise of re-building the abandoned Arkadia elementary school, the Heiress moves into one of Arkadia’s  landmarks, TonDC Manor, but only dreaming of going back home to the busy streets of the city of Polis.They met, feelings emerge but the relationship must stay a secret. What the detective is yet to find out, is that the heiress keeps more secrets than the one they share.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 244
Kudos: 300





	1. The Sleepy Town of Arkadia

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear reader!  
> So, this fic has been in the works for a while now and I have, unfortunatly, very few to show for it (only three -going on four - chapter are written so far :p)!  
> This has a star, a middle and an end already planned but who knows what might happen in the spaces that are still left to fill?!  
> This is a bit of a trial in writing a more 'serious' fic, so I apologize in advance for the somewhat pretentious vibe it might give off!  
> Hope you enjoy the read and please tell me what you think of it, as I'm (so far) quite liking how the chapters are turning out and would love to get some feedback on it!  
> Thank you in advance for reading it! :D

The town of Arkadia sits at the base of a mountain. Clarke Griffin always loved waking up and seeing the grandiose Mount Weather. No matter where you were in Arkadia, whether it was the town center or the fishing lake at the end of its limits, Mount Weather was always there, watching over you. Unfortunately, gone were the times where the mountain attracted tourist to the sleepy town the blonde held so close to her heart. She can’t really say she misses the tourists, with all honesty. She misses the good it did for the economy of Arkadia, that she did, but as one of the only detectives in the rather small police department, Clarke much preferred not having to spend days on end chasing teenagers who liked to steal key chains while on vacation or breaking drunken fights every weekend.

“Griffin! Rise and shine!”

Clarke groans at the knock on her window and the voice of her partner yelling outside.

“Griffin! Get your ass up! Unless you feel like walking to the station!” Another knock. Fuck whoever built this shitty apartment complex and decided that a room at the front of the house was the best way to go about it.

“Okay, okay, I’m going! Jesus, Murphy!”

Clarke rolls over and slowly makes her way out of bed. She peeks through the curtains, seeing John Murphy resting against the railing in front of her window, entertained with his phone. The blonde knocks on the window, making him snap his head up and be faced with Clarke’s ‘good morning’ flip off.

“Morning to you too!”

Just fifteen minutes later the woman is walking off the door, black backpack dangling from her shoulder and a cereal bar between her teeth.

“Fucking finally!” Her partner whines while she locked the front door.

She knew from their years of working together that he faked annoyance at everything and everyone, acting like an asshole almost all the time, especially with her. Most of the time he was never truly pissed or annoyed. Most of the time, that is. Even so, she felt kind of bad for making him drive to her apartment every morning for the past week, all thanks to her motorcycle deciding to give up on her halfway through her way home and Clarke just not having the money to fix it yet. She loved working at the police department, but she really wished her salary was worth more than a weekly drive to the grocery store and her rent. Not that she needed much more to get by. Or at least that’s what she tries to convince her mother of.

It's a mere ten-minute ride from her apartment to the Police Station at the center of the town, with a small stop at the newly opened coffee shop, that both her and Murphy enjoy in silence, only talking to each other to confirm their coffee orders. With her Latte warming her hands, she almost cringes when she sees Murphy take a sip of his ‘manliest drink after beer’ as he loved to put it, aka, his black, sugarless coffee. She was so glad she wasn’t a man with their fragile egos. As always, they walk by the doors at exactly half past eight, right as Captain Bellamy Blake leaves his office to enter the briefing room.

The other two women in the team are already at their sits, talking so loud Clarke doesn’t even need to see them to know they’re already here. It’s a sight that always fills Clarke with a sense of pride, because in such a small town that holds what some would call old fashioned values, three out of four members of the only detective team Arkadia has are women, and they’re the best damn women for the job.

Raven Reyes had been her best friend since her academy days. Unlike the other members of the team, Raven was raised in the big city of Polis, although rather poor. She moved to Arkadia right after they were out of the academy, following Clarke wherever she went from there on, risking her leg in the process. What should have been a simple case of underage drinking ended up with some dumb teenagers with a gun getting spooked and shooting Raven in her spine, making her loose the use of her right leg and bounding her to desk duty and the occasional visit to the field. Octavia Blake was here following her family lineage. Much like her grandfather, her mother, father and her brother, she had decided to follow family tradition and become an agent of the law. One would think that with her brother as the captain, Octavia would slack off, and Clarke thought exactly that when they first met officially, but she has been proved wrong almost daily. The youngest girl of the squad worked her ass off to get to where she is and where she wanted to be, which was at the seat her brother now occupied and that she hoped to occupy one day.

“Octavia Blake, the first female Captain of the Police Department of Arkadia! It has a wonderful ring to it doesn’t it?” Octavia had told her once, in her first week as detective. Back then Clarke thought she was just dreaming big, but she knows now that the girl means it with every molecule of her being and that she sure works for it.

“Yo Clarke, have you heard?” Was Raven’s greeting once she entered the briefing room.

“Heard what?”

“Someone bought the _TonDC_ Mansion. Or at least that’s what people say.” Octavia said, her mouth full of her donut. She really was the epitome of a cop stereotype.

“I thought no one in town had the money to buy that house, with all the work that needs to be put into it and the maintenance shit.” Clarke should know, she investigated into it once. That house had been her dream home for the longest time. It stands so high and mighty right at the entrance of the woods that made their way up Month Weather, it looked like heaven on earth. Or the very least, heaven on Arkadia.

“And no one does. Heard is some big shot from Polis that’s buying it.” Octavia responded, with her fingers in her mouth, licking the rest of the powder sugar left there by her devoured donut.

Polis was the next big city over, about a three-hour drive south. A small town that expanded into a metropolis, unlike quaint little Arkadia.

“Why the fuck would someone from Polis want to buy a house here?” Murphy’s voice was one of indignation. Growing up poor in a poor town, he hated everyone from Polis and everyone from money, which, at the very beginning, had meant hating Clarke too.

Octavia’s answer was a simple shrug and a voiceless ‘I don’t know’ on top of a louder ‘I have no idea’ coming from Raven.

“Good morning everyone, let’s get this started so we can finish it!”

Whoever was buying the house, Clarke already hated them.

******

Clarke hates not having her motorcycle. She also hates grocery shopping. Therefore, grocery shopping without her motorcycle is like her personal hell. The cold air hitting her face is making her nose runny and her eyes water, and she can’t wipe any of them away thanks to the shit load of bags she holds in her arms. To add insult to injury, her back is killing her from sitting at her desk all day filling reports and now from having her work bag on one shoulder and the gym bag she kept forgetting at work on the other. There was nothing she longs more right now than her shitty couch and the cheap whiskey she has somewhere on the four bags of groceries in her arms. She cries of happiness once she turns a corner and sees her apartment complex. She’s so close to peace and quiet for the day. Clarke decides to quicken her pace and begs the heavens that her ass of a neighbor has already smoked her nightly pack of cigarettes and retrieved inside her house of screaming demon children.

Opening her door, Clarke’s met with a small ‘meow’ from her rescue cat. Petting her quickly and leaving all her bags on top of the counter, the detective hoops into her small shower and almost moans at how wonderful the hot water feels hitting her sore muscles. Unfortunately, she knows hot water doesn’t last forever and, in this house, it only last about half an hour before it’s gone, so she leaves the shower longing for the bath she grew up with at her mother’s house. Truth be told, everything about this dump of an apartment makes her long for her mother’s house. She would be lying if she said she didn’t grow up more privileged than most people at this town. Her mother ran the pediatric unit at the local clinic, working every other weekend at one of the best hospitals in Polis, meaning money was never a big problem at home. But with that life came her detachment from Clarke’s own life, especially in her teenage years. Her father had tried his best, but his work at the police station didn’t have the most convenient hours, meaning Clarke only had herself to confide in. And then, her father died, and it was as if, with him, died the only thing that linked Clarke and her mother together. After she left for the Academy her relationship with her mother hit it’s very low. It took Clarke moving into her own apartment and becoming a detective for her mother to finally come back around and start talking to her again. And with it came the overly concerned calls. She got it though. Her father died on duty, her mother was just scared her only child would hold the same faith as her husband. But she had spent her teenage years dealing with her life and her problems on her own, even when she wasn’t mature enough to deal with them. Now that she is well into her twenties she really doesn’t need her mother’s help, nor does she need the money her mother tries to give her every month, like it’s an allowance to make up for the years she spent distanced from her.

Clarke’s still drying her hair, still lost in her thoughts when her landline rings. She sighs and ignores it. The only people who know her landline number are her landlord, her mother and Murphy and since she knows the latter never calls her there without trying her phone first, she figures it’s one of the other two, and she’s not in the mood for hearing neither of them. The only thing she wants it’s to watch a lighthearted tv show with no bra on and a stomach full of the microwavable meal and the cheap, cheap whiskey.

The phone rings again.

But this time it comes from her bedside table and it’s much later at night. Way too late at night. Looking at the red number on her alarm clock Clarke feels like crying of frustration. 4:27 am. Grabbing her phone she sees Raven’s dumb face looking back at her. The detective immediately knows it’s work related and that she must get out of bed for good. The world seems to be out to get her.

******

“How bad is it, in a scale of 0 to Murphy’s scab pealing habits?”

“I don’t know, the captain just said this was a first for us. So, let’s give it a finding the Captain and his wife almost fucking in his office.” Raven seems to be having a hard time concealing the excitement in her face once they arrive at their destination. Months of desk duty really do make a person excited for the most macabre of things.

“Try not to look so excited about someone’s death, Raven.”

“What? Oh right. Sorry. It’s been a while.”

“Just try not to let it show so much, Bellamy might make you go home earlier if you keep that grin on your face the whole time.”

“Gotcha!”

Both women get out of the car and their demeanor changed immediately with the heavy atmosphere that fell on them. Murder wasn’t the most common in Arkadia. They’ve had suicides or the accidental death. The last and worst murder they got was a stabbing over some weed that ended in two corpses and crying parents. She could stomach every single part of the process of investigating homicides. But never breaking the news to the families. Maybe it was experience from being on the receiving side of the news.

“Griffin, come here!” Captain Blake’s calls from where he stands, right next to what she assumes is the corpse. The woods on this part of the town are already deep and the moonlight can’t illuminate anything on the ground. In fact, it’s almost impossible to see outside the circle of the big studio lights the forensic team had set up on the floor.

Clarke takes a deep breath, switching to detective mode before approaching him.

“What do we got captain?” Her eyes don’t dare look at the body just yet.

“A big fucking mess is what we got Griffin.” The man pointed at the body and Clarke was finally forced to look. Damn. What a fucking mess indeed. The man had blood around his mouth and on his clothes, but she couldn’t see any entrance wound, bullet or other. There was blood all around him. Around his fingers and even his pants. Namely, his crotch area. God, she doesn’t want to think about what had happened there. Following the bitter smell, she noticed the pile of vomit the man’s head rests on. Automatically putting her blue gloves and taking her notepad out, Clarke gets to work. It was the body of a man. A big man, late forties probably.

“Two kids stumbled upon him when they sneaked over here to have some one-on-one action.” Captain Blake adds. Clarke can imagine how scared the kids must be after seeing this.

“Did you find any ID on him?” A negative shake of the head from one of the forensic experts was the response.

“The fingerprints were burnt” Murphy, who Clarke hadn’t seen approach her, says, getting up and writing on his notepad. Great. Just keeps getting better.

“His nails were ripped off. Torture?” Clarke looks at Murphy.

“Maybe. But why? And why here? I’ve never seen him in my life, and pretty sure I’ve seen everyone from this town at least three times.”

“Do you think the killer might be a local?” The thought kind of scared her. She knew almost everyone in this town, and she couldn’t imagine any one of them doing _this_.

“No.” Clarke knows better than to argue that he couldn’t be that sure. As much of a good detective as Murphy was, he also had very strong opinions about things that made him bias.

“Do we have any preliminary cause of death?” Clarke asks, getting up from her crouched position, being hit with cold air and the smell of the wet grass and trees mixed with the smell of vomit and the metallic scent of the blood.

“Not yet, the coroner hasn’t arrived yet.” Murphy doesn’t take his eyes off the notepad.

“He’s late again?” Clarke sighs and looks back at the corpse. He had some big tattoos on his face and some poking through his shirt sleeves.

“Maybe it’s drug related? The blood around the mouth and vomit could be from that, we’ve seen it before and his tattoos look tribal, it could be from some gang. From Polis most likely.” Clarke theorizes.

“Could be. I mean, I don’t see why a gang would come from so far just to kill a guy, but it’s not too far fetched.” Murphy agrees, closing his notepad. “And here he is, the man of the hour, finally! Fuck Jackson, you like taking your sweet ass time, don’t you?”

“I’m here aren’t I? I’ll be quick don’t worry. I’ll send you what I have once I’m done with him.” Jackson was never one for wait for Murphy’s comebacks before getting to work.

“He kind of pisses me off sometimes” Murphy tells Clarke as they both start leaving the crime scene to join Raven and Octavia, who seem to be about done with their witnesses’ testimony.

“Everything pisses you off John.” Clarke rolls her eyes playfully, still looking at the witnesses. The girl, the daughter of the local priest if memory doesn’t fail her, is crying hysterically and Clarke wonders if it’s because of what she just saw or the thought of being taken home by the police. The boy seems to be rambling and judging from the red in his eyes, he’s far too high to be coherent.

“This homicide is already pissing me off too.” Murphy starts again.

“On that we can agree on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can ask my anything about the fic in my tumblr https://sapphicmoonandstars.tumblr.com/ :D


	2. New Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a bit more about Clarke's messed up love life and Lexa makes her first appearance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> First of, I just want to say thank you for the comments and kudos on the first chapter! This fic has been my baby for about a year and some months now so I'm extremely glad you guys seem to like it :D  
> Things will pick up a bit more from now on!  
> With that being said, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

The Arkadia Police Station is small, to say the least. With only a handful of policemen, one team of four detectives and such a small forensic department that Clarke swears sometimes it’s not even there. Not that it really matters, it’s not like they have any evidence on who the man that lays on the morgue fridge is or have any evidence that the forensic team can take and analyze. This is the first unsolved case Clarke had since becoming a detective and it’s not sitting well with her. After 2 months of following false clues that lead nowhere, the whole squad was just as frustrated as she was with the whole ordeal.

“So?” Clarke and Murphy were just turning the corner to get into their desks when Raven came power walking out of the break room, disgusting and bland machine coffee in hand. Another tip call from a small boutique saying they might have the man on video turned out to be another fake lead from a woman in her late seventies that could no longer see well and an old surveillance camera that had nothing they could really follow on.

“Fake tip” Clarke sighed, throwing her bag on the floor and her body on the chair. “Again.”

“This is getting beyond frustrating. It’s just fucking with my head now. How did no one saw this man? Not a single fucking soul!” Maybe Murphy was even more frustrated than she was with it all.

Clarke ran a hand on her face and hair, trying to let the frustration leave her. The last months have been spent between solving other small cases and trying to make something out of nothing to solve this murder that was about to be archived if they didn’t come up with something soon.

“Look, let’s just go have lunch and forget about this case for a while, what do you guys say?” Clarke suggests, getting up from her chair, trying to get the team of disappointed detectives out of the depressing walls of the police station.

“Sure, why not? You’re right, we could use a little time to forget this damn case.”

Clarke sighs in relief. She could always count on Raven to have her back. That and she was sure her friend was as done as she was of eating take out at her desk while they theorized dumb shit that just led them nowhere. Her partner and Octavia complained under their breaths but grabbed their coats and followed them into the cold air of Arkadia nonetheless.

They end up at The Ark Diner, as always. A once cheap option for tourists, is now the top choice for truckers to eat a warm meal and for the town’s public workers to whisper about the run-down state of Arkadia.

“I still can’t believe we haven’t got a real lead in two whole fucking months.” Octavia sighed.

“Don’t mop around dude. I’m glad we haven’t got any clues to be honest”

The statement gains Raven a round of raised eyebrows, to which she responds by shrugging.

“Don’t look at me like that. Let’s be honest here: nothing happens here. Nothing. This is the most interesting case we ever had.” The eyebrows went down except Clarke’s, who keeps looking at her best friend with a disapproving look.

“C’mon Griffin. You’ve seen the guy, you really think he wasn’t mixed into some shady shit? People don’t get their fingertips burned for being innocent. It’s not like we have a morgue full of random dead bodies. We have one body of one shady dude. When will we have this kind of practice in a murder like this again?”

Clarke knew all of that. But no matter what kind of illegal mess the man was involved in, he was killed. Murdered. And whoever did it needed to serve time for it _. Fiat Justitia, Pereat Mundus_. Justice must prevail even if the world must perish over it. That’s what her father had taught her ever since she was a little girl. Those were the words her father lived and died by. So, those are the words she lives by, even if they kill her the same way they killed him.

“Just, no more case-talk until we’re back at the precinct okay? I’m done talking and thinking about this case twenty-four seven.”

The rest of the group nods. They had been spending late nights trying to go over everything they already have, every tiny detail, but it’s not like they have much anyways. There’s silence after that. They order their food and wait for it to arrive in silence. Clarke is almost halfway through her cheeseburger when Murphy breaks it.

“Me and Emori picked a date for the wedding.” He says, taking a sip of his beer.

“Really? When? As the obvious maid of honor, do I need to buy a new dress or the one I bought for Bellamy and Echo’s wedding is still good?” Raven asks, mostly in a joking tone.

“Next week” Murphy simply says, not really looking at any of the others at the table. “And Clarke’s gonna be my best woman and Emori’s sister is her Maid of Honor. As if I would let you and your embarrassing ass come any close to me and my bride on the aisle.”

“What the fuck do you mean next week?” Came Octavia’s incredulous question.

“We want something small. Us, her sister, the husband and the kids, her dad, and my squad. Just come in whatever you want, you can come in your workout clothes for all I care. Emori might kill you if you do though, so keep that in mind.”

Murphy turns his beer to Clarke, sitting next to him, ignoring the shocked looks of the three women.

“You have to come in a tux. I’ll be damned if I have my best woman coming to my wedding wearing a dress.”

At that, Raven seems to come out of her shocked state.

“Hell yeah, Griffin looks fucking hot in a tux.”

“All for you babe!” Clarke says, letting her voice drop to make it sound sultrier and sending a wink into Raven’s direction.

“ _Ew_ , get a room, you two. I’m trying to eat my precious food without you sending fuck eyes back and forth.” and to make a show of it, Octavia throws her arms around her plate.

Clarke loves this. The banters they all have with each other. The dumb, stupid shit they say to make each other laugh. Raven’s sexual comments towards her that make Murphy roll his eyes and Octavia fake innocence over being the youngest one, even if they all know through Bellamy that she might be the least innocent of them all, having crazier stories as a teenager than most of them have as adults.

They keep joking around until the only food on their plates are a few fries and the rest of some dipping sauce. After a comfortable silence following a loud laughing fit, Octavia speaks.

“They’re finally moving into the TonDC Mansion” Clarke snaps her eyes to Octavia.

“Moving in? I thought it wasn’t fully renovated yet.” Last she heard, the mansion wasn’t even to be lived in, it was just a show of money. But then again she should know better than to trust the know it all cashier at the local supermarket.

“Yep, I saw the moving trucks this morning when I was taking Brutus for his morning walk. Whoever is moving there, they’re loaded, let me tell you. Like, not normal rich kind of loaded, more like billionaire kind of loaded.” How Octavia managed to speak as if she wasn’t fighting Raven over the dipping sauce for the fries was a mystery to Clarke.

“I mean, isn’t that what we need? Rich people coming here to invest? I say, as long as they throw money around town, let them come!” Raven exclaims, finally winning the fight with Octavia.

Even if she couldn’t see his face from beside her, Clarke could almost _hear_ Murphy’s eye roll.

**

The tiny room in Clarke’s apartment smells like sweat, cigarettes and sex. And sometimes, that’s all she needs to relax herself during a hard case. And for a few blissful hours Clarke thought about nothing but the warm of the body underneath her. But now, now her mind was racing with the thoughts of the case again. Maybe she should take those vacation days Bellamy keeps reminding her of.

“You’re very pensive today. Everything okay down at the precinct?” The company next to her questions, her hand coming to brush the hairs that had fallen in front Clarke’s eyes.

“Everything’s fine, just a hard case.” Her voice is dismissive and even if she saw the slight hurt look in the girl’s face, Clarke ignores it. “It’s getting late. You should go home Niylah.”

“The roads are kinda slippery, I don’t know if it’s the best idea for me to go home at this hour.”

The answer makes Clarke roll her eyes and get up, not bothering covering her naked form. Her and Niylah had been friends since high school. And pretty much through all of it, it was a well-known fact in their friend circle that Niylah had a massive crush on her. But Clarke had just lost her father and with her homelife in a complete shit show, she avoided her and her puppy crush, preferring to go for random hook ups here and there when she went with her mother to Polis, almost as a desperate attempt to get her only progenitor to pay attention to her, to ground her, something, but it never went anywhere, not really. So, when she came back to Arkadia, they begun this ‘friends with benefits’ relationship, interrupted only by Clarke’s brief relationship with her ex-partner Finn Collins. But then that was over and here they were again. Except Niylah’s crush never seemed to fade away. If anything, Niylah was now completely and utterly in love with Clarke Griffin. And even if Clarke appreciates her and whatever kind of friendship they have, she doesn’t love her. Nor does she wish to.

“You’ve gone home later and in worse weather than this Niylah. Besides, you only live like 2 blocks away, you’ll be there in 5 minutes.” Clarke didn’t mean to sound rude or like she’s trying to get rid of the woman, especially when she’s nothing but complaint with her needs. But she always does this. Always tries to spend the night, always tries to get something out of Clarke that she can’t give. Clarke doesn’t do relationships. It’s not that she closed herself off to love. Her father used to say Clarke feels too much for her own good. It’s just that she doesn’t feel ready for love yet, not after Finn. Even after two years, her heart is still mending itself but it’s still far too broken to love yet. But sex, that doesn’t require love and Niylah knew what this was and what was always going to be from the beginning.

“Would it hurt you to just for once let me spend the night with you, Clarke?” Niylah voice is angry, but Clarke could hear the hurt and the tears behind it.

“You know why Niylah. Because we both know why you want to spend the night and you know very well that what you want it’s not going to happen. So please, stop asking! If you think you can’t do this anymore then stop coming around!”

Clarke sighs.

“Stop hurting yourself coming here when I can’t give you what you want Niylah.” Clarke’s voice is filled with defeat. She’s no longer sure if Niylah would hurt less being away from her or only being with her like this, knowing that they would never happen.

Clarke’s blue eyes follow Niylah moving around the room, grabbing the clothes that had been thrown all over, her jaw clenched in an attempt not to cry. By the time the other woman’s finished dressing, Clarke has put her robe over her and is now sitting on the edge of the bed. Finally, Niylah turns to leave the bedroom, but detains herself and turns around.

“I love you” Niylah’s voice is cracking, but she knows she’s stating the obvious.

Clarke’s eyes soften, because even if it had always been known, Niylah had never said it.

“Niylah, I don’t-“

“I know. I just… I wanted to say it.” The corner lip of Niylah’s turns up slightly “You know the drill. Call me when you need it again.”

Clarke offers her a sad smile.

“Bye Clarke.”

“Bye Niylah.” Clarke whispers, after hearing the front door close, knowing that Niylah would still hear her outside through the window.

Throwing herself onto her bed, Clarke rubs her eyes forcefully as a useless effort to try and erase the past few minutes out of her existence. After a few seconds, Clarke accepted the happenings were there to stay. She suddenly feels very tired, her whole body and mind heavy. So, she just decides to hide herself under her covers, still warm from the body of the girl she can’t find it in herself to love.

**

“You know, the air here is much purer than in Polis. You should take advantage of it and go for a stroll around town.”

The brunette startles and turns around at the sound of the voice. The still bare walls and unfurnished room made the echo catch her by surprise.

“Although if you do, I suggest you change to something less _Chanel_.” The blonde points to the tight strapless dress the other woman’s wearing, the outfit made complete with black high heels and small diamond earrings, her hair in a ponytail with small braid holding the strands in place.

“I don’t particularly want anything to do with this town, Anya. Not to offend the locals, I’m sure Arkadia is lovely, but I would much rather be back at Polis. It’s too quiet here, makes me restless. Besides, this house is creepy as fuck.” The woman moved around her friend to the only piece of furniture in the room “And it’s Prada, not Chanel.”

“Well, it’s only for about a year Lexa, you have to keep with your promise to your father. It’s imperative you do so, actually.”

“Are you advising that as my friend or as my lawyer?”

“Both.” Anya sighed “You know very well why you’re here and that you can’t leave Lexa.”

“I’m well aware of my duties Anya, I don’t need you to remind me.” Lexa straights her back, her hand locking behind her back. “I want to be alone if you don’t mind.”

“Do you really think she would want you to spend your days closed in your office with your head deep in your work?” Anya points to the golden frame on the desk, the only thing that seems to be in place.

“Leave.” The younger woman demands, her voice harsh.

“As you wish Mrs. Woods.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lexa is here and she's sassy! Clarke has a very unhealthy co-dependent relationship with Niylah. She kinda needs to work on that...  
> Feedback helps me a lot!  
> You can as me anything fic related here https://sapphicmoonandstars.tumblr.com/ :D


	3. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A case forces Clarke and Murphy to visit the new TonDC Mansion owner.

It’s the middle of another snow-covered afternoon and their little corner of the precinct is surprisingly silent. Maybe it’s due to her partner being on his honeymoon or maybe it’s Octavia’s cold affecting her throat and preventing her from babbling the day away, but the silence is both comforting and exasperating for Clarke.

Having felt asleep too drunk for a school night after a particular nasty fight with her mother about money, the silence was the remedy she was looking for her hungover but poison for her overactive mind.

She feels a tap on her shoulder that startles her just as her eyes are about to close for a glorious power nap. Clarke turns her head to look at the culprit, just for the culprit to be looking at her with a smirk.

“Wanna go grab a coffee hot stuff? You seem about to pass out over there.”

“Sorry, had a late night yesterday.” Clarke excuses herself while rubbing her eyes.

“Niylah?” Raven asks, a knowing smirk suggesting what she assumes happened the night before.

“No. Haven’t talked to her in a while actually,” Clarke stretches and the ‘pop’ in her back seems to wake her up a bit more “she’s been avoiding me.”

“I wonder why.” Even with her sore throat making her voice low and raspy, the accusatory tone is still present in Octavia’s voice.

The younger girl had met Niylah right after high school and they had been best friends ever since which meant Clarke avoided the Niylah topic whenever Octavia was around. And while Octavia never took sides, she was obviously protective of the girl she loved like a sister and would sometimes hint things at Clarke about the other girl’s feelings, as if Clarke wasn’t already hyper aware of them.

“O, look-”

“I know Clarke, I know. You don’t love her. Both of you chose to keep this fuck buddies thing knowing that. But it hurts her being like that with you as much as it hurts her not being with you. And she won’t stop until she understands that there isn’t a chance of anything happening.”

“I don’t want hurt her. You know that.”

“Then, find someone else Clarke, someone you like for something more than a quick fuck. Let her move on from you!” At this point, Octavia’s voice is failing, and Clarke can tell she’s getting aggravated by this. She doesn’t mean to be accusing her of anything, Octavia just wants for her best friend to be happy and as it stands, Clarke is in the way of that.

Even so, Clarke is hangover and the implication that she isn’t in a relationship simply because she doesn’t want to bother with one, hurts, especially coming from someone that had a front row seat to the disaster her last relationship was.

“Don’t you da-”

“That’s more than enough, both of you.” Captain Blake half yells at both from the door of his office “This is a police station, not the high school cafeteria. If you want to discuss your personal lives, do so on your break, not in the middle of the bullpen.”

“Sorry sir.” The three women say in unison, Raven getting caught in the habit though she wasn’t involved in the discussion.

The older man looks at both Clarke and Octavia with an authoritarian look, although the one that falls upon Octavia is more of a brotherly stare than a rigid one.

“Griffin, Reyes, get your bags. A body was found at the gas station just off the highway.”

They get their bags and jackets in silence while Octavia turns back to her computer and starts a coughing fit after forcing her voice through her cold. Clarke turns around after her bag is safely positioned on her shoulder and quietly approaches Octavia’s desk.

“Medium coffee, cream and four cubes of sugar?”

“And a hot cinnamon roll, your treat Griffin.” 

“Of course.”

It’s a weak attempt at an apology but they both know what it means.

**

The gas station is isolated from almost everything. While it’s still inside Arkadia’s town lines, the forty-five-minute drive there makes it almost foreign for those who don’t leave the Arkadia in the direction of Polis often. It’s a ruined down little place run by a small grumpy old man that seems to be there at every hour of the day, every damn day.

Clarke is familiar with the disgusting bathrooms this gas station offers. On her mother’s weekly trips to Polis they would stop here a lot and like any teenager that refused to hear their parents advise or outright go against them, she would end up having to use them while her mother waited in the car. Clarke hadn’t stepped foot in the gross cubicle in nearly five years, but the disgusting stench that hit her is the exact same she smelled all those years ago, dead body or not.

“Dude, gross! Oh, fucking hell, I think I might throw up!” Raven cover her mouth as she clearly starts to gag, making the other woman laugh and receive a forceful middle finger before Raven doubles over and empties her stomach.

In her turn, Clarke simply covers her nose and mouth with the cloth she keeps in her pocket and steps inside the small bathroom. The detective assumes the tiles were white at some point, but the lack of cleaning made them more of a dark cream color that, for her sanity, she always assumed was due to the mud outside. The florescent white light doesn’t help her ever growing headache and the song that plays distantly inside the gas station is making her ears ring. All she wants it’s to leave but with Raven outside puking her guts out, she as to step up and deal with her bad choices later.

The body lays just under the sink, arms and legs thrown in different directions, _rigor mortis_ clearly just setting in. The detective is just about to put on her gloves, although she feels like for this place, she should wear a full hazmat suit, when the coroner burst through the door and almost trips down backwards when the smell hits him.

“G’morning doctor!” Clarke greets him, a mocking expression on her face as the coroner makes a face at the smell.

“Good morning detective. It smells vile in here. Is that the body?”

“Oh no, that’s just good ol’ bathroom smell”

“Delightful.”

And they both set to work.

While a body in an isolated gas station bathroom seems like the perfect set up for a murder, Doctor Jackson quickly puts that assumption to rest.

“No signs of bullet entrance, stabbing or poisoning. No signs of struggle either. _Rigor Mortis_ puts his death at about…” Jackson looks at his watch “Eight Thirty?”

“Any wild guesses about cause of death?”

“I know the department would love another weird murder. Unfortunately for you, I’m not seeing any indications of it. I’ll know more after the autopsy.” Doctor Jackson doesn’t look up from the body to answer.

“Of course.” Clarke looks at the driver’s license she found in one of the pockets and back at the man. John Hill. Sixty-one, resident of Polis. Next to the body, sits the chocolate bar, opened but untouched.

At least this one had an identity.

Once Clarke gets outside and breaths fresh airs she feels lightheaded. She hadn’t realized she had gotten accustomed to the disgusting smell of the tiny bathroom. Raven has put herself together it seems as she talks to the owner of the gas station who gesticulates so much Clarke fears he might end up hitting Raven in the face. She hangs around waiting for Raven to be done with the questions.

“So? What do you got?” Clarke asks as Raven closes her notepad and blows in frustration, walking towards her.

“Dude walked in around eight -fifteen, asked for the bathroom. Old man told him he needed to consume, dude bought a chocolate and got the key. Old man says he forgot about him until a trucker asked for the bathroom key, they opened the door and were met with the guy on the floor, already dead.” Raven keeps looking between her notes and Clarke, clearly annoyed she got stuck with witness testimonial instead of the action of accessing the scene.

“He didn’t see anyone else go to the bathroom?”

“No, and he is, as he put it ‘a hawk when it comes to who approaches my damn gas station’.”

“Always a charmer that man.”

“You’ve been here before?” Raven questions as they both move back to the car.

“A few times… Really didn’t miss it.”

“I can see why hot stuff, I can see why.”

The ride back to the police station seems like torture. Clarke loves Raven Reyes to death, but she never wanted to punch her so much as she did in the car ride. The loud music she decides to play only aggravates her pulsing headache and the way she turns on curves forces them to eventually stop so Clarke can throw up on the side of the rode. Once she is back inside groaning, Raven laughs.

“That’s for laughing at my misery back there, Griffin.”

Clarke just rolls her eyes.

“Just fucking drive like a normal person, you dick!”

The station is still dead silent aside from the loud coughs from Octavia’s desk.

“So? Anything juicy?” Octavia has a glint in her eyes and Clarke wonders what the fuck is wrong with everyone on this team and wanting gruesome murders.

“Oh, I wish, just some dude who dropped dead in the bathroom, doesn’t look like anything interesting if you ask me.” Raven throws herself in her chair with a loud ‘huff’.

Clarke’s head is just about to explode when she puts Octavia’s coffee and pastry down on her desk and sits at her own. This isn’t her first rodeo, but it is the first time Raven decided to take her for a carousel spin which doesn’t help her situation at all. Still, she powers through it. The man in the morgue has someone that cares about him and she has a duty to give them the bad news.

Except that, after 2 hours, Clarke can’t find anyone this man might call family. Parents are dead, single child of equally single-child parents, never married, no children, not even a distant cousin to contact.

Clarke feels a shiver going down her spine. Murdered or not, this man died all alone in the world, with no family to care for him. No one from his blood to remember him. She suddenly feels the urge to call her mother and apologize for whatever stupid fight they had last night.

But, she doesn’t.

Because Murphy comes back that afternoon and they have a get together planned. Because she needs to check on her bike, because her kitchen needs cleaning, because she’s too tired and because she has a bad habit of not wanting to apologize to her mother when she never apologized her back for barely being there for her during her hardest time.

Clarke wakes up the next morning with her ever-so-kind partner banging on her distant sounding bedroom window and she swears that man never learned about doorbells growing up. The sound appears fainter than usual and it takes Clarke a second to realize she fell asleep on her very uncomfortable couch, her little sweet angel of a cat on top of her head, clearly undisturbed by the insisting banging on the window.

It becomes another rushed morning, with a barely there shower and a bit too much dry shampoo on her head, her short blonde hair more a fluffy cloud on her head than anything else. If her mother saw her delightful combination of old ripped jeans Clarke has since high school and a wrinkled shirt straight out of the drier, she might disown her for good.

“Morning…” It’s all Clarke can muster as she walks out of her apartment.

“Yeah, morning…” Murphy doesn’t sound that enthusiastic either. Clarke guesses that after a week in Los Angeles she would be pretty depressed coming back to their snow-covered slice of life town as well.

Clarke can’t say she didn’t miss Murphy at all. Silent morning car rides were way better than Raven’s morning sing-alongs or Octavia’s rambling about her puppy (or worse of them all, Bellamy’s quick switch from best friend to rigid boss, yelling at her for coming in late when he was the one that made them so by taking an ungodly amount of time saying goodbye to his wife after dropping her at work). Although, she could really do without the sarcastic comebacks every time she opened her mouth.

It’s late morning when Doctor Jackson brings the autopsy results. A stroke on a man with an already weak heart is all the mystery there is to it. And they still have no family to contact.

Murphy quickly decides to look up where the man works. If anything, this man must have some coworkers or friends that would like to give him a proper burial.

“Would you look at that! Our friend was a worker in the renovation of TonDC Mansion.” Murphy exclaims, a bit of disdain present in his voice, a prove that he still didn’t enjoy a landmark of this town being bought and used by outsiders.

“Who’s the employer?” Clarke would be lying if she wasn’t curious who had bought the mansion.

“Let’s see…” Clarke can hear Murphy type away something before answering “Mrs. Alexandria Woods, Trikru Inc.”

Clarke narrows her eyebrows in confusion.

“Never heard of her.”

“Well, guess we’ll be hearing from her soon enough. Let’s go!”

**

“Will you stop bouncing your damn leg Clarke, you’re making the whole fucking car shake.”

“Sorry Murphy.”

She isn’t though. She can’t nor want to contain her excitement. Clarke has spent her whole childhood enchanted by the mansion, her teenagerhood wondering how to get inside and her adulthood so far dreaming of buying it and making it her own. An impossible dream from the start but still a dream.

Even with the renovation, the changes to the outside aren’t much. The old rusty gate, that had in the recent years become home to a few vines and spider webs, was changed for a new, slightly more modern, automatic one that opens for them once Murphy shows whoever is answering the door his and Clarke’s batch. The trees that cover the front of the house are the same, just slightly cut not to appear so overgrown and Clarke is glad whoever this Alexandria is still has some regard for the old trees that have been there since the town was founded some three hundred years ago. The fallen leaves and the browning grass are gone, replaced with a dark green grass, that shows between the thin layer of snow on the ground. As the car leaves the trees behind and shows the mansion up close, neither of the detectives can contain their amazement.

“Wow” It’s all Clarke can muster as the two stories white stone mansion appears in front of her.

The house was visible from downtown, as it sat up on a small hill making its way up Mount Weather. From afar, it looked almost mythical, like a mirage, something mere mortals weren’t allowed to approach. Now, looking at it from a walking distance, the feeling of being unworthy of being there felt heavier on Clarke. She feels the urge of grabbing her notepad and pen, sit on the snow-covered floor and sketch the house from all it’s angles. She had, once upon a time, considered a life as an architect, just so she could create houses like this for a living. But that career path lacked the liberty of expression Clarke enjoyed in her art, so she eventually decided against it. Or against a career in the arts whatsoever.

They leave the car right by the front steps and are about to reach the door when it’s opened by a woman in an apron, curly greying hair up in a ponytail. Her work uniform is short sleeved, the tattoos on her arm shocking for a woman that appears to be in her early sixties and Clarke almost wonders if this Mrs. Woods is crazy enough to let her staff work with such light clothing in the cold they’ve been having but the hot hair that hits her from inside the house tells her that feeling cold isn’t a problem amongst the mansion’s walls.

“Detectives, Mrs. Woods will be with you in a second, if you would follow me.”

The woman, Clarke assumes to be the governess of the house, is polite but not friendly in the slightest, as Murphy quietly comments. Clarke doesn’t care, she’s too mesmerized by the inside of the house to do much more than nod.

TonDC mansion was, in all its livehood, lifeless.

Occupied during the Prohibition, the mansion served has a shelter to the wealthy who longed for nothing more than a drink and a game accompanied by a cigar, and at the time of its construction, a safe haven for the Ark Family, the founders of her beloved town, hosting parties and with its doors always opened to travelers, now stood nothing more than occupied by its new owner, no interest taken to make it feel like the home it once was.

The walls, freshly repainted as far as Clarke can tell, hold some expensive old art and a few tapestries but nothing that would suggest who lived within its walls. No pictures, no interesting piece that looks like it was bought and hang because it made someone feel something. Just bare walls with bare decoration.

The floors seem old, waxed recently no doubt, still shining from the wax, but seem cracked in some places, as if no effort was made to hide what was left there by its former occupants. Clarke's glad for that. Shows that Mrs. Woods at least cares enough about this heritage of her town to conserve a bit of its history.

Or maybe it was just laziness.

“If you would wait, Mrs. Woods will call you in when her meeting is over.” The woman announces, pointing to a more modern looking sofa that sits across from the door, a side table with some business magazines on top and a big vase with clearly freshly picked flowers on each side, a make shift waiting room in Clarke’s opinion, although a much nicer one than the others she’s been in.

“Can I get you anything? Some water? Tea?” The governess asks politely, but the way she poses the question, it seems clear she isn’t to happy with the possibility of bringing them something.

“No, we’re fine, thank you.” Clarke quickly interrupts as Murphy opens his mouth to clearly ask for something and with that, the governess disappears.

“How much do you wanna bet Mrs. Woods is an old hag with too much money and doesn’t even know who the guy was?” Murphy whispers close to her face, eyes locked on the door.

“Shut up Murphy.” Not that she wasn’t thinking something similar.

It takes no more than four minutes for the door to open and for a woman, small in height but clearly strong of body, short hair and dark skin, too well dressed for the weather, her jaw clearly tight but barely sparing a glance at the two detectives. To say Clarke felt inadequate amongst the walls of the mansion and everyone’s seemingly put together attire was an understatement. She didn’t plan on walking into her childhood princess fantasies dream house today, so her outfit didn’t particularly reflect her excitement.

“Detectives.”

A woman, looking not much older than herself stands at the door and Clarke can’t help but stare. She’s tall, maybe an inch taller than Murphy, her light cream-colored suit contrasting well with her tanned skin and blondish hair, the high heels she wore just helping her imposing nature. Her whole face looked like it was crafted from marble. If only Clarke could take a picture of her and show it to Raven, this woman was nothing sort of Raven’s – hell even hers – dream girl.

They both stand at the same time, Murphy ready to introduce their reason for being here, but the woman is faster.

“I’m Anya Green, Mrs. Woods lawyer, I’ll be present during the conversation. Detective...”

“Clarke Griffin and John Murphy. We are only here to mainly deliver some news and I don’t believe the presence of a lawyer will be needed frankly” Clarke tries to dispute.

Yet, when the woman looks down at her, brown eyes like dagger, Clarke regrets opening her mouth.

“I’ll be the judge of that, Detective Griffin.” It’s almost a snarl and makes Clarke blink faster just to brush the surprise away “Please, come in.”

The office of the house is magnificent.

The walls are covered in wood paneling, the ceiling high and white makes the detective feel small in comparison. A fireplace sits to the side, marble if Clarke had to guess. It’s the only place in the small slice of the mansion Clarke as seen so far that has life in it. There are photographs, flowers, lit candles and papers moved around, the only thing outside of place so far. It’s the size of Clarke’s apartment alone. In the middle sits a table, old by the looks of it, where some house plans sit, although Clarke cannot tell if they are for the house or for something else. She guesses it isn’t much of her business anyways. A desk sits opposite of the fireplace and resting against it, attentively watching, is _her_.

Mrs. Alexandria Woods. In all her glory.

Clarke’s on duty. She should not be checking out every woman that comes her way. And she usually didn’t. Of course, sometimes her head would point out very clearly that a particular person was hot, but Clarke avoided straight up checking them out. It was unprofessional and could lead to some unethical behavior so the detective avoided it when she could help it.

Well, in this moment, she cannot help it.

Alexandria is nothing short of a goddess. Long legs in heels and slightly above the knee black pencil skirt, tight enough to accentuate her figure. Her red flowy blouse matches the red shade that color her plump lips and the blush on her high cheeks look like a mix of makeup and actual blush from the heat in the room. The brown locks were swiped over her right shoulder, neatly falling over. However, it’s the woman’s eyes that take her breath away. They are light, but it isn’t until Clarke walks a few more steps that she can tell the exact shade of green they are. She wonders for a second if she could paint that same exact shade and then stops herself when she remembers, once again, that she’s on duty.

Mrs. Woods notices her staring and even seems to be staring back, as Clarke can see her eyes traveling up and down her body, spending just a moment more on the hint of cleavage her shirt shows.

Under normal circumstances, Clarke would have smirked and even try some flirting.

And then, the woman starts twisting the golden ring in her finger around and Clarke snaps out of it.

Right. _Mrs._ Woods. As in, _married_ Mrs. Woods.

“Detective Griffin, Detective Murphy, this is Alexandria Woods, head of the Trikru Company.” The lawyer, Anya, introduces.

Murphy makes a motion to go for a handshake, but Mrs. Woods is quicker to raise her hand to stop him and turn her back on them so she can sit down behind her desk.

“I’m not fond of formal introductions detectives. May I ask what’s the reason for your visit? I doubt the ArkPD is the welcome wagon of this picturesque little town.”

Alexandria’s voice is imposing and authoritarian, but her tone doesn’t rise above normal speaking voice to do so. There’s a slight snark behind it as she mentions the _little town_ that sits awfully bad with Clarke.

“We are here more in the hopes you can help us.” Murphy starts, his charm voice turned on.

The tune raises an eyebrow on the woman sitting across from them who doesn’t look all that impressed with Murphy’s attempt.

“I’ll do my very best.” There’s a mocking tone behind it as well as something else Clarke can’t quite put her finger on when the brunet’s eyes switch from them to her lawyer for a split second.

Murphy tries to start talking again, but Clarke thinks it’s best for her to guide the conversation before Mrs. Woods kicks them both out because of Murphy’s dumb efforts at being charming.

“Yesterday the body of one of your employees, John Hill, was found on the gas station on the road going to Polis.” Clarke leaves a quiet moment for whatever reaction they want to have.

The lawyer only nods while the other woman’s green eyes lose their harshness but don’t show any sadness for the death.

“We were hoping you knew of anyone, friends or co-workers that were close to him, since he doesn’t seem to have any family.”

“I’m sorry detective…”

“Clarke… Hum, Griffin. Detective Clarke Griffin!”

Murphy gives her a side eye. She shouldn’t have gone with the first name. But lord if this woman wasn’t making her lose a bit of her common sense. And all she was doing was sitting there.

“Detective Clarke… Griffin” There a pause, as if to let the hard click Mrs. Woods adds to the C in her name sink in, the smallest of smirks on her lips “I’m sorry, I didn’t know him. While they do most of the construction work for Trikru I cannot remember everyone’s name…”

Mrs. Woods keeps twisting her ring. Murphy seems to notice this as well.

"Maybe your husband knows him?" At the sight of a raised eyebrow Murphy clarifies himself “I noticed the wedding ring and the name, so I assumed there is a Mr. Woods"

With a small chuckle and sad looking smirk, Mrs. Woods crosses her hands on the desk in front of her and leans over a bit, titling her head to the side.

"There is no Mr. Woods detective. There is, however, another _Mrs._ Woods "

Clarke snaps her head up at this statement. Shit, this woman would be her dream come true. Gorgeous, all light eyes and dark hair, mysterious, and now, gay. And her money wasn't a turn off either. Oh, if only she wasn't married. What a lucky woman her wife is.

"I mean, was... she passed away. So, I highly doubt she would be of any help to you.” Alexandria adds, sitting straight up again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you.”

Mrs. Woods is now clearly rushing them. Mentioning her dead wife must have hit a nerve. Clarke supposes that’s more than reasonable.

“Are there any of his coworkers in the house today Mrs. Woods?”

“Yes, in the back, working on the pool. Feel free to ask around if anyone knew him.” The woman offers, without Murphy even having to inquire. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Woods. And thank you for your time.” Clarke offers, her hand stretched in front of her before the other woman as time to deny her. She has this burning need to touch her even if every fiber of her cop brain keeps saying she shouldn’t.

The woman eyes her up and down, that small little smirk once again coming out to settle on her lips. Her hand reaches and just barely shakes Clarke’s and she’s surprised to feel some calluses under soft skin. Alexandria makes no motion to reach for Murphy’s hand and neither does the other detective.

“Thank you for delivering the news firsthand. I just wish I could do more…” Green eyes look genuinely sad this time, but only for a brief second “In fact, would you be able to tell me if you cannot find someone to pay for the funeral arrangements? I would be more than happy to pay for it.”

Clarke’s thrown back at the generosity. As for her lawyer, well, she looks almost defeated, like this isn’t the first time Mrs. Woods offers to pay for something as expensive as a funeral for someone she hardly knew at all.

“That’s very generous of you.” Murphy doesn’t sound all that delighted. Clarke knows how much he hates shows of pity.

Clarke doesn’t think its pity. The woman seems like she genuinely wants to help. And why should they stop her?

“It’s nothing really. Poor man, all alone in the world, should at the very least have a proper burial.” Alexandria says, the first hint of sympathy in her voice. She looks down at the picture frame on her desk and sighs. “If that’s all…”

“Of course. We’ll keep in touch about that funeral arrangements.” Murphy answers. Clarke knows as much as he dislikes hands outs he also wants to make sure Mrs. Woods keeps her word.

“Thank you Detective Murphy. Here’s my business card, my number is on there..” She hands him a white card and nods in his direction, a clear goodbye gesture that Murphy not only answers but obeys. “Detective Clarke.”

There’s another hint of a smirk at the use of her first name instead of her last. Alexandria is most definitely doing it on purpose now, although Clarke can’t tell if it’s a direct response to the way the detective checked her out or if she’s just messing with her for her clear unprofessionalism. Clarke tries to read her eyes, but the other woman quickly averts them. Eyes are the window to the soul after all. Some part of Clarke wants to stay and figure out what that soul has to say. And what other parts of her have to say. The other part, the bigger part, is telling her to stop thinking with her cunt at work and get out of the house before she says something she regrets.

“Alexandria.”

Too late, she guesses.

Clarke walks away, feeling both women’s eyes on her, but only one set of eyes send daggers in the direction of her back.

The two detectives leave the office and the door closes behind them; the sound of the voices immediately gone. Waiting for them is the governess who is ready to escort them both to the door before being informed, to her obvious dismay, that they are actually looking for the pool. Clarke’s sure if she was to ask her, the governess would say they are the biggest inconvenient of her whole damn week.

Clarke knows Murphy heard whatever the fuck happened inside that office. Clarke also knows he’ll have a lot to say once they are in the car. But for now, she prefers not to think that she just kind of flirted with some rich hot widow while on the clock.

**

“What the fuck was that Lexa? Are you out of your mind?” The lawyer starts ranting as soon as the door closes and the detectives are out of earshot.

“The funeral will hardly make a dent into my bank account Anya, you know that. Besides, it shows generosity for my subordinates.” The younger woman assures as she gets up from her chair, already bored with the conversation.

“That’s another point I wanted to make, but not what I’m referring to.” Anya follows her client “I’m talking about the blunt flirting with the cop who’s here while on the job! How did you go from not even wanting to go on a date to wanting to fuck a _cop_?”

“I’m a married woman Anya, I wasn’t flirting with anyone.” Lexa states, staring at her friend.

“You’re a widow Lexa, you’re allowed to look at other girls and want to fuck them. Can you please just not want to fuck an officer of the law? Doesn’t look good, for either side.” Anya concludes, making her way to the whiskey that’s kept close to the fireplace.

“I don’t want to fuck another women Anya. I already had a wife. I don’t want anyone else.” Lexa’s voice is once again getting dangerously rigid, warning Anya she wishes to finish this conversation soon rather than later.

To her dismay, Anya never backs down just because her friend wants to sound threatening.

“You say that, but I saw whatever the fuck happened back there. You think the cop’s hot. And that’s perfectly fine. I know you think you’re betraying her by having feelings for someone else, but you’re not. She’s gone Lexa. Dead and gone. She’s not coming back!” The lawyer’s voice is getting louder. She means well, but her friend is nothing sort of frustrating when it comes to her lack of love life since the death of her spouse.

There’s a silence after that. Lexa’s jaw is tight and her breathing heavy. Anya knows she overstepped the line.

“I’m sorry.” Anya apologizes. She doesn’t offer more than that.

“Anyhow,” Lexa starts “what did you want to talk to me about before Indra and the detectives came for a visit?” The brunet approaches the dark wood table where the plans for their next charity project sits.

“Right. Meet Arkadia Elementary.” Anya points to a picture of a run-down building, seemingly abandoned. “Abandoned a few years ago for lack of funds. Kids go to the next town over to have classes. Parents protested; nothing came of it. Your father promised the mayor he would build a whole new school, out of the goodness of his heart, of course.” Her face doesn’t change, but the quick look the woman sends to her companion shows the sarcasm in the statement.

“Of course. There was nothing but goodness in his heart.” Lexa snarks, leaving the table to grab a drink.

“His premature death left that promise to be fulfilled by you, as you well know.” Anya grabs another piece of paper “These are the plans for the school. New gym, new classrooms, new computers, all of that. Kids get a new school, the family and the company get good publicity, you get an ally.”

“And then we leave?” The other woman asks, taking a sip of her drink.

“And then we leave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They have met!  
> Feedback is always appreciated :D  
> If you want to ask anything about this fic you can do it on my tumblr https://sapphicmoonandstars.tumblr.com/


	4. Two Phone Calls and a Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn a bit more about Lexa, the detectives wrap up the latest case and Anya and Raven lock eyes for the first time.

Alexandria Woods, born and raised in the big city of lights, Polis, simply can’t find a taste for the small town of Arkadia.

Not that she can claim to have tried to find it’s charming side but so far, all Alexandria has seen is teenagers getting drunk and high in public, old ladies turning their heads every time someone walks pass them and adults with a blank look on their faces as they go about their monotonous days. There’s no life here. It’s quiet, there’s no sound of traffic, of people out on the street at any given time, no construction, nothing.

Her office was the thing she demanded be renovated first once she moved into the mansion her father had appointed as being the best while still alive. Even back home, it’s the place she spends the most time in, sleeping on her chair if necessary even. She finds that whatever room she has now always feels empty, so the less time Alexandria manages to spend in it, the better. Even here, her old office chair seems much more comfortable than her big, empty bed.

There isn’t a single thing in this town that peaks her interest.

That is, until detective Clarke Griffin enters her office.

Since the passing of her wife, the heiress as sworn of love. Or attraction of any kind. Costia Woods was supposed to be the exception to the love is weakness rule that is used like a crest in her family. They were supposed to be forever. They were supposed to be the living, breathing prove that love conquers all. And that they were, for three blissful years. And then, it was over, Costia’s life taken and with her all the love Alexandria believe the world still had.

She would like to believe herself above mere physical attraction. Not to say Alexandria doesn’t crave another’s touch, but her heart craves only _her_ touch. Costia wouldn’t blame her if she took another woman to bed. Even if she did, she wasn’t here to tell her so. Yet, when last night in her dreams, the head of curly black hair between her legs turned into short wavy blonde, Alexandria woke up, heavy breathing and foggy mind coated with guilt and shame.

Denying to Anya that any kind of flirting happened between herself and the detective just a few days ago was easy. Denying to herself, however, became a harder task. She shouldn’t blame herself for how she responded to the woman. Clarke Griffin was beautiful in a way Alexandria just wasn’t used to seeing. Where she comes from, women are beautiful because of their expensive dresses, carefully applied makeup and eloquent vocabulary. They were beautiful in the same way Lexa herself felt she was beautiful. Money made people more attractive, it made others ignore the little flaws in their faces, the imperfections on their bodies, their bland personalities. Not Clarke. She was effortlessly beautiful. There was a careless care about the way she carried herself. She was clearly aware of her looks but didn’t seem too concerned to dress herself more modest because of them or overdress to make her beauty more visible, if the wrinkly shirt and faded jeans she had chosen to wear to work the other day were anything to go by. Clarke Griffin simply was. And Alexandria wasn’t used to people simply being.

But she couldn’t deny that Anya was correct. Going out with a cop, even if for a quick bedroom visit, would not be the best option as of right now. Besides, she needs to focus on her work. She always does. It takes more than a pretty detective making her fluster to keep her mind away from what’s truly important in her life. Trikru Inc. Her family heirdom. The one she is the sole owner of. Alexandria Woods, quite literally, the last of her name. Father, born into the Woods name, was an only child and mother had died when Alexandria was only four years old, leaving her no time to give her daughter a little sibling to share the burden. Not that Alexandria hated the job. She was instructed for it her whole life; Business School had been more of a formality than a necessity as far as the woman was concerned. Being the CEO meant she made her own hours and with the company having been established early in the eighteen century, and with new companies now established underneath Trikru, money isn’t, and most likely never will be, a problem. But having subordinates and keeping them all in check could be an issue. It had already happened once in this town and Lexa wasn’t fond of having to deal with the outcome of failure. Not that she would let that bump her down. You get knocked down, you get back again. Not the most original of sayings but one of her late father’s favorite non the less.

The sound of the old grandfather clock that stands proud in the hall adjacent to her study announces the hour changing and Lexa realizes that she lost about half an hour of work inside her own head. She sighs in frustration, taking her glasses off so she can massage her temple as a headache threatens to appear. She has been unfocused since the early morning and frustration’s starting to make its presence known in physical form.

After another fifteen minutes of trying to focus on the words and numbers the paper in front of her show, Alexandria is forced to admit she needs a break. And a drink.

She used to be a social drinker, strictly. Then she took over the company and whiskey become a work partner and she would sometimes work and drink herself to sleep at her office in the Trikru Company building. Anya found her once and drove her home, leaving her to her own devices once she managed to stumble inside the penthouse she shared with her wife. Come morning, she was awoken on the sofa by her wife, her now disheveled and expensive pant suit and heels still on. After having a few words with her, her wife had made her promise to stop drinking once and for all. After Costia’s death, the glass found its familiar place back into her hand. It wasn’t as bad as before, but since arriving at Arkadia, the whiskey had already lulled her to sleep a few times to many for Alexandria’s liking.

Full glass in hand, Alexandria looks back at the paper’s sitting at her desk. She dislikes half-assed work and if she tries to work right now, it’s all she’s gonna get. Conformed with the lack of work for the day, the woman approaches the big window in her office. It’s snowing outside, shy flakes, but still enough to paint the floor white. It doesn’t impress her much. But the heiress cannot deny that the snow falling on this ancient mansion grounds has its charm. It’s almost tempting to go outside underneath the safety of the roofing just outside her window, even when her designer suit skirt is entirely weather inappropriate. Still, Lexa opens the ceiling to floor window, stepping into the chilly air, a complete contrast with the warmed inside of the house. She hesitates before closing the door. Had she not done it, she would have missed the sound of the phone on her desk, ringing.

With a sigh and one last look at the snow outside, Lexa moves back inside in big steps to reach the phone. She takes a sip of her drink before answering.

“Hello?” Her voice is coarse from being silent the whole day, and she moves the phone away in an attempt to clean her throat unnoticed.

“Is this Mrs. Woods?” The person on the other side asks. The voice is awfully familiar.

“Yes. And this is?”

“Detective Griffin, Arkadia PD. We met earlier this week.” Lexa takes another sip of her drink as the detective on the other side identifies herself.

“Detective Clarke, hello. What can I help you with?” The name escapes her lips before she can stop herself. She can’t help it. She enjoys saying the other woman’s first name.

“It’s Detective Griffin if you wouldn’t mind.” The other side of the line reminds, voice stern. Yet Lexa can’t tell the hint of the smirk behind it. “ This is about your employee’s death, John Hill, we still don’t have any family to contact and while his co-workers were very sad about his passing, none of them have the financial means to cover the funeral.”

There’s a pause for digestion of the words just spoken, Lexa assumes. She wonders if it’s a police habit or a Clarke one. The brunette uses that time to take another sip of her whiskey.

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Lexa doesn’t fake sadness. She’s above that.

“We were wondering if your generous offer to pay for the funeral still stands. If not, the body will be entrusted to the local funeral home and he’ll be cremated.” The detective states. Lexa can’t help but notice how whatever flirtiness was present in her voice in person is now gone.

The disappointment doesn’t last long in Lexa’s heart. It was a lap of judgment the way they had spoken to each other when they had met. The lack of human touch was bound to betray her someday.

“Of course, I’ll pay, willingly.” She won’t fake sympathy either.

“Wonderful!” The sternness goes away, and the smile in the detective’s lips is audible “Can I give you the number of the funeral home? So you can go over the details of the funeral with them.” Lexa is still focused on the change in tone when she understands what the detective means.

She won’t plan the funeral. She’ll pay for it, but she’ll be damned if she’s forced to plan another funeral, and one for someone she didn’t knew at that.

“Oh no, you misunderstood me Detective. I’ll pay for the funeral but that’s it. His friends are free to plan it however they desire, money is no object here. But, for all purposes, I did not know the man and will most certainly not organize his final goodbye.” Her drink is finished in between phrases, the glass being put down on the silver tray heard on the other side of the line.

“Oh,” the smile is gone “I understand. I’ll be sure to inform his friends so they can start with the preparations.” She can hear papers being rustled with and Lexa can only assume the detective is looking for her workers information.

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to arrange with them the payment later. Is that all?”

There’s another pause. Even through the phone Lexa can feel a small shift in the air between them. The sound of phones ringing and people talking from Clarke’s side fills the silence before the detective cleans her throat.

“Yes. Thank you once again for the generosity Mrs. Woods. Not many would do what you did for a stranger.” Clarke’s voice is soft, and Lexa feels herself involuntary tense down from her day.

“I have the means, it’s the least I can do, especially when the man had been under my employment.” Lexa responds, not having much more to add.

While she surely couldn’t say she felt bad for the death of the man, Lexa could somewhat empathize with it. Dead and no family to mourn him. When her time came, the only difference between them would be the millions that would accompany her to the grave.

“If only more people thought the same.” The smile is back but Lexa doesn’t feel like entertaining it. She has more important things to do than to be flirted with by some random small-town cop. 

“It truly is a pity.” There’s no emotion behind Lexa’s answer.

The message is clear and understood.

“Well, I’ll be in touch. Goodbye Mrs. Woods.” Another pause, with no effort to put the phone down. Lexa is forced to answer back. Small town pleasantries’, she assumes.

“Goodbye Detective Griffin.” 

The beep comes right after her last name is pronounced and Clarke is left with the sound of the hang up dial tone in her hear. Sighing, the detective puts the speaker back where it belongs. She’s in the middle of stretching her back when Murphy’s chair rolls in behind her.

“So?”

“She’ll pay for it. Only pay for it, she’s very adamant his buddies plan it however they want, she wants no part in that.” Clarke informs him.

“Oh? Too good to plan a funeral?” Murphy asks, clearly not wanting an answer.

Clarke feels the need to defend her for some reason.

“C’mon dude, she looks pretty fucking young and is a widow, she’s probably done her fair share of funeral planning. Besides, it’s already a miracle she’s paying anything at all, we should be happy just with that.”

Murphy isn’t convinced.

“If you ask me, she didn’t do more than her obligation. Rich people owe it to the rest of us to share their money. They gotta show some love to the little people, we deserve it, we are the ones who gave them their dough!” The man exclaims, rolling himself back to his desk.

From her desk, Octavia’s head lifts up.

“I’m pretty sure calling them ‘little people’ is offensive.” The younger girl accuses, frowning.

“He’s taking about the working-class O, not small people.” Clarke clarifies.

“I feel like small people is worse than little people.” Raven interjects.

“Sill not what we’re talking about.” Clarke responds, already annoyed with the change in subject, “Are you guys going?” she asks, turning her chair towards the center of their desks.

Murphy turns his chair the same direction, “I mean yeah, feels like we should.”

“Where are we going?” Raven asks, once again more interested in the conversation going on instead of the paperwork in front of her.

“To the funeral of the guy we found in the gas station bathroom.” Clarke answers looking at the girl while she rolls herself over to them.

“ His buddies found the money?” The last member of the team asks, rolling herself to them, bumping into Raven in the process.

“No, Mrs. Woods, the rich lady is paying for it like she said she would.” Murphy’s the one who answers this time.

“Rich lady?” Octavia seems confused.

“Yes, the one who bought TonDC. Jesus, do you guys even listen when we speak?” Clarke asks incredulously. These two were unbelievable sometimes.

“I’m sorry, I was doing my job, I didn’t know I had to be paying attention to any information you might drop during conversations that aren’t my business.” Raven defends herself, hands in the air.

“You think every conversation is your business Reyes.” Murphy remarks.

“Shut up Murphy!” The detective says before turning to Clarke, “Sure, we’ll go. I don’t have much else to do anyways. My stupid physical therapist won’t let me do much until I can bend my fucking knee.” Raven whines. Clarke can only imagine what it must feel like to be told to stay still, specially when you’re Raven ‘I don’t take orders from no one’ Reyes. To comfort her best friend, Clarke sends her a half smile and a pat on the shoulder.

“When’s the funeral?”

The four detectives turn their head to see Captain Blake standing next to their desks.

“I don’t know sir, but no later than Monday I assume.” Clarke is the one who answers. She still needs to call the man’s co-workers, but the body has been in the morgue for almost a week now and it needs to be buried or cremated as soon as possible.

“Me and Echo will be going too then. Griffin, go make the call.” Captain Blake starts moving back to his office “Let’s hurry this along, we have other cases that need our attention.”

After a round of ‘yes, sir’ from the four detectives, chairs are rolled back to their respective desks.

**

After Clarke makes the call, the funeral is quickly planned. She asks to be informed of the date and the next day receives a call warning her about the funeral happening that very afternoon. After passing the information to her team and the captain, she’s allowed to go home to change to a more funeral appropriate attire. As she’s leaving, the detective stops at her desk, wondering if she should call Mrs. Woods to inform her of the funeral. There’s a part of her that wants to, if not just to see the woman again. Ultimately, Clarke decides against it. She hadn’t t asked to be informed and the other woman didn’t seem like the type to enjoy calls based on assumptions.

By four in the afternoon, the entire squad is at the Arkadia Cemetery accompanied by Captain Blake and his wife. Clarke hasn’t seen Echo in a few months so while she wants to catch up, this feels like the wrong place to do it.

While his buddies take the casket out of the back of the car Clarke notices that the casket, with shiny light wood and silver details, is a cheaper model. She still remembers the model from her own father’s funeral. It seems that even with the possibility of paying for the best, his friends still decided that John Hill would have preferred a more modest resting. There’s about four more people aside from the detectives and the three man they had identified has the deceased closer friends, to say their goodbyes. It wasn’t a big turn out, but the ones who were there have enough tears and sobs to tell Clarke that this man, who had no family and barely any friends, was a good man.

The ceremony doesn’t take long. A few words from the priest and the casket is lowered down while quiet cries can be heard from the few attendees.

Captain Blake and his wife throw a flower each on top of the shiny wood, Octavia doing the same . Clarke and Raven follow suit, while Murphy stands back, not the most sentiment of men. If Clarke hadn’t seen him tear up just last month while his bride walked down the aisle, she would say he doesn’t know any emotion other than annoyance and anger. The police officers stand back, while the man’s friends walk through the snow and throw their flowers in. Clarke stand with her head down, remembering how much she hated people looking at her as she threw a flower inside her dad’s grave, a last goodbye in the form of a stupid flower. Instead, she watches their feet and legs, old dress pants probably used for church, weddings and any formal event they are forced to attend, all standing on the other side of the open grave.

The muffed tears and sobs are interrupted by whispering and once a pair of high heeled boots make their way into her line of vision, Clarke sees who the target of the whispers is.

Raising her head, she sees that Mrs. Woods is accompanied by her lawyer and a tall rugged man in a suit Clarke has never seen before. He stands back while Alexandria approaches the grave and leaves her own flower behind, her lawyer mimicking her. The woman then moves to the other side of the hole, nodding to the friends of her former worker and gives them her condolences. Clarke can hear them thank her for her generosity before she moves back to where the man who accompanied her stands. Anya doesn’t say anything, opting instead to just follow her client while looking around and resting her eyes on the detectives.

One detective in particular.

Looking to her side, Clarke can see Raven biting her lip as her and the lawyer’s eyes lock. A warning elbow bump from Clarke take her out of the moment.

“Ow, don’t be a dick!” Raven whispers while holding her left side.

“Stop trying to get laid by a fancy lawyer at a funeral” Clarke whispers back.

“Lawyer hm? How do you know? Have you met her?”

Truth be told, Clarke had every intention of telling Raven about the hot lawyer. There weren’t many gay people in Arkadia. Maybe more than in most small towns but still not enough to have a lot of options. So, as both bisexual women, Raven and Clarke had promised each other to always mention when a hot woman showed up in Arkadia, specially if she gave off sapphic vibes. But Clarke had gotten caught up in her own hot gay woman fantasies and forgotten completely to share with Raven about the other hot possibly gay woman.

“She’s was there when we went to talk with Mrs. Woods. I completely forgot to tell you about her.” Clarke apologizes.

“Dude, c’mon!” Raven whispers between teeth “You’re supposed to tell me these things! Remember? We had a pack here!”

“Sorry, I got… distracted once we got there and the funeral thing happened.” Truth be told, once Clarke’s eyes had laid on Alexandria, she had almost completely forgotten the other very hot woman was also there. Not that the widow seemed all that interested, if their phone call was anything to go by.

“Can you introduce me?” Raven whispers once again, gaining a side eye from the Captain.

“We didn’t particularly stay gal pals Raven.” Clarke responds, impatient. This is not the type of conversation they should be having at this time and place.

Next to her, Raven whines but eventually drops the subject.

The priest says his final prayer and the colorful view of the flowers is covered with dirt. Clarke stares at it and the painful flashback of seeing her father’s casket for the last time rushes into her mind. In an attempt to keep the tears away, the detective looks around, eyes searching for something to take the memory away. Blue orbs end up catching green ones already staring at her. The heiress’ eyes don’t look away once the object of her attention catches her staring. Clarke decides not to look away either, standing her ground. There’s a raised eyebrow in response to this, Alexandria turning to her lawyer right after, whispering something. The blonde woman eyes leave the grave and switch to Clarke’s face, the detective having yet to take her eyes away from the heiress. There’s a nod on the lawyer’s part before the woman turns around and starts to leave. Mrs. Woods turns her head to Clarke one last time. In response, Clarke nods. She doesn’t know what for. A sign of awareness of the tension she could feel between this woman she knew nothing about and herself? A last thank you for what she had done for her late employee? Whatever it was, Alexandria nods back.

The other attendees of the funeral approach the detectives, shaking hands and thanking them for their work, as the detectives share their condolences for their lost once more. Clarke hopes to turn her head and still see the three outsiders still there.

When she does, they’re gone, like they were never there.

**

It’s late at night. Clarke doesn’t really know how late; she just knows it’s late. Her eyes are closed, and her precious little kitty has long since curled herself up on the other side of the couch and gone to sleep, after an hour of trying to avoid her owner’s cuddles. The TV is showing reruns of some 90’s show Clarke neither likes nor finds funny, but it makes for great background noise while she tries to force sleep to come to her. There are sleeping pills in her bathroom, the ones her mother prescribed her after she complained about sleepless nights and a fight followed about how Clarke should give up the force to follow a safer, less stressful career, with her mother’s promise of paying for her to go to college, med or art school, whatever she wanted.

Clarke gives up trying to sleep and opens her eyes. She has the day off tomorrow – or maybe today, it’s most likely today already – so she can always sleep the afternoon away. Grabbing her phone, Clarke tries to entertain herself with the few social media she has installed on her phone. Not much happening there. She considered texting Raven. Her eyes flick to the small clock on the corner of her phone screen. Almost five a.m. The only person she knew that was awake at this hour was Octavia, and the girl was just getting ready to go on a run with her dog like she did every single morning, heavy snow or sunshine be damned.

Clarke sighs and locks her phone, letting it fall on her chest as she stretches the tiredness away. Her cat looks up as she feels movement and Clarke tries to coerce her to came to her lap, but the kitty seems uninterested, rolling back to sleep in her corner. 

“Meany!” Clarke tells the cat, jumping up from her spot and approaching her to try and give her a little head kiss. The paw that comes up and nearly hits her head was to be expect. “Ah! Missed me, my cute little baby!” The cat is unimpressed by the baby voice her owner gives her.

Clarke gets up and opens her shutters, getting ready for the day. Which will consist of mostly what she had been doing all night. The detective moves to her small kitchen, some frozen waffles thrown into the toaster accompany some weird tasting coffee blend she mistakenly bought but is not about to throw away without being at least half finished. Throwing herself back on the couch, food in hand, Clarke starts surfing through the channels, hoping something entertaining is on. By the twentieth channel change, her hope starts to die. She somehow ends up on a British business channel and is about to change when a familiar face catches her eye. The program is something about young businesspeople and looks to be a few years old. On screen stands a younger Mrs. Woods. She looks more carefree, face more opened and eyes shining, the aura of mystery and closeness that surrenders her today are nowhere to be found. The show ends just seconds after she finds it but it’s enough to put the thought of the beautiful widow back in Clarke’s mind.

Clarke feels this pull towards the woman. A pull she knows Alexandria feels too, that seems undeniable. Yet, she seems uninterested in pursuing it. She supposes it’s understandable. They barely know each other. Hell, other than names and basic information, they are complete strangers. Clarke wishes she could know more about her. The emerald eyes show a long life story behind them, even at such a young age. It’s with that though that Clarke, in her sleep deprivation, grabs her phone. She saved the number Alexandria had on the business card. She shouldn’t have, it’s unethical. Not illegal, but certainly not the correct thing to do. She brings it up and without thinking, clicks on the green call button.

Just a second later realization of what she had just done hits her as she frantically ends the call just after the first ring, almost throwing her phone across the room.

Her heart starts beating faster with adrenaline. It was too early for the heiress to be awake unless she was the Octavia type of waking up before the sunrise. Hopefully she would see the unknown number and assume it was just someone calling the wrong number.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?!” Clarke swears to the heavens.

Next to her, the small cat looks up once again. In her eyes Clarke can see the response.

A whole fucking lot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-control? Clarke Griffin doesn't know her!  
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter that was almost exclusively written on a sleepless night when inspiration stroke!  
> Feel free to leave any suggestions for this fic in the comments! And as always, feed back is always appreciated and welcomed! My tumblr is https://sapphicmoonandstars.tumblr.com/ in case anyone wants to ask something about the fic there :D


	5. Crossing Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's sleepless decisions come back to bite her in the ass, for better or for worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! Sorry for the delay there, college happened and took my attention away but it's done now! (for good hopefully!)

Lexa’s tired.

She was tired when she went to sleep the night before, long after midnight had struck. She was tired when she was awaken by her phone ringing twice in the early hours of the morning, ignoring the first ring in hopes of it not being important but when the second ring comes, she sluggishly reached for the device, annoyed when Titus’ voice, Trikru’s vice-president and her dead father’s right hand man, spoke on the other side, warning her about her presence being needed in Polis for an urgent meeting. She became increasingly more tired after six combined hours of travelling from this God forsaken town in the middle of nowhere to her hometown and then back, with two miserable hours of meetings in-between.

There’s only one upside of her trip back to the city. Her dear, sweet Apollo.

She was around seventeen when he was born. He had a heritage to uphold, just like her. His linage had been in her family for years. Big, strong and fiercely loyal, St Bernards had been the Woods’ best friends for as long as she can remember. But just like her, Apollo was the last of his line. The mother, her dad’s dog for years, had only been able to get pregnant once. With the pregnancy came illness and she eventually passed as well as the four of the five puppies in her litter. But her Apollo was strong, even if his first days were spent on the brick of death. She had to beg her father to let her keep him, to let her nourish him back to health. And bring him to health she did. He was big, fluffy, caring and loyal as they can be.

“Apollo! Come here boy!” Lexa calls, as she steps inside her now mostly empty penthouse. She waits for a second before heavy paws come running to her and the dog is covering her with kisses and affection, making her squeal in delight.

“There’s my good boy!” She praises him, rubbing his soft fur. Costia used to joke about how their children were probably gonna be born already covered in dog hair, much like they themselves always were. Lexa shakes the fond memory away. But it’s hard. This house is full of those.

“I missed you! Yes, I did!” Lexa continues her praise, rubbing behind the dog’s ears “I’m sorry I can’t take you to Arkadia yet. I promise I’ll be back to take you there soon… But if you ask me, I don’t think you’ll like it there. I certainly don’t.”

The dog barks, happy to talk with his owner after a few weeks of not seeing her face.

“Ok, I have to go. But I promise I’ll be back for you soon okay?” Lexa whispers, feeling emotional all the sudden. She disliked leaving him behind. He was everything she had left of her family really.

**

Clarke genuinely tried to be productive on her day off. She tried painting but after some half an hour of looking at the white canvas with a blank mind and another half an hour throwing paint at it hoping something would come out of it, she decided to give up.

After her lack of judgment that morning, sleep had left her entirely and had yet to come back to her, so she falls back into her couch, a cold beer in her hand.

Sometimes, she wonders how she got here. Her life revolves around her work. Outside of it, her life barely happens. Octavia has her puppy, her family and love for all things adventurous to keep her occupied. Raven loves spending time at the mechanic shop downtown, helping around when she can and still has time to tutor some high school kids in physics. Murphy has a wife and his love for cooking, which is surprisingly good, not that she would admit to that out loud.

Clarke, on the other hand… Well… She paints. Once a month. And even then she lies to herself and calls it abstract art, because that’s all she can call the dozens of strokes on the canvas. She drinks. A lot. Maybe enough to be considered casual alcoholism. She also fucks. And she does it with a girl who loves her and that she won’t love back, putting them both in a co-dependent fuck buddies’ relationship.

So, maybe Clarke is a frat boy trapped in a twenty-seven-year-old woman’s body, and what about it? No strings attached to anyone, doing what she wanted all the time. She’s happy, isn’t she?

_Aren’t I?_

The weight of her father’s death never left her. The weight of making emends with her mother, the woman she still resents for all the years of emotional neglect as a teenager and still can’t hold a conversation with for too long without turning into a screaming match is very present as well. The weight of her last relationship and the consequences of it are also still fresh. There are so many wrongs and traumas in her past that sometimes she feels like surviving life more than she is living it. But she still tries. She goes out when asked and loves spending time with her friends when they aren’t all exhausted from long shifts at the precinct.

Clarke stares at her phone and clicks her unlock button to see the time. Nearly 8 p.m. Maybe the gang would be up to go out for drinks. She needs a distraction from the seemingly boredom her life is without work or friends. She has Raven’s number pulled up already, ready to click call after one last gulp of her beer before an incoming call beats her to it.

Clarke nearly chokes on her beer when the name pops up.

_Fuck._

**

She fantasies about leaving the company sometimes. Not often, those thoughts can be dangerous and make her slip up. Too many are waiting for that moment. It’s one of the only luxuries in life she can’t afford. Those fantasies usually come in days and hours like these, where Anya is too busy to dine with her, where her head pounds for rest and her heart pounds for arms that are no longer there.

Lexa quietly retreats to her study after arriving home and stays there the rest of the afternoon and into the evening hours, eating dinner at her desk. She knows her employees talk about her. She doesn’t care, gossip never affected her. And although she never heard it, never walked in on any hushed conversation between the governess and the cook or saw the maids chatting mid hallway just to quiet themselves as they see her walk past, she knows the gossip is there. It’s concerned gossip, she’s aware. It’s very present in the sad look the governess gives Gustus, her bodyguard, as he walks with her through the mansion’s front door and sees the unshed tears that still shine in her green eyes.

She spends the evening staring at her computer screen, signing papers and staring at the screen some more. It’s almost 8 at night when she let’s her eyes look around the room and realize the room has gone dark and her desk lamp had been turned on without her realizing she had done it. Sleep overcomes her suddenly and she realizes she needs to go to bed soon. Computer turned off and papers neatly stacked, Lexa stands up, rolling her shoulders back in an attempt to release some of the tension she feels setting on them. The desk lamp is just about to be turned off when a yellow sticky note catches her eye.

_Call Titus back._

Lexa groans. Her adviser had tried to call her when she was in the car, but she was too drained to answer, prompting him to leave her a message, asking for her to call him that day when she could. Letting her body fall on her chair once again, Lexa grabs her phone and instinctively goes for her last calls, her tired eyes fall on the man’s name and she barely clicks it before it starts ringing and she can hear the dial tone echoing in her tired brain.

“Hello?” Comes from the other side. Lexa’s about to answer when the voice registers. Is not Titus’ voice.

Lexa frowns her eyebrows at this.

“Who’s this?”

“Hmm…”

On the other side of the call, Clarke is sweating. But she takes the opportunity to try and flight from the situation.

“Hello?” Lexa asks, ready to hang up.

“Who’s this? You called me.” Clarke asks back. She could have hanged up. Why didn’t she?

Lexa moves her phone away from her ear and looks at it. The number isn’t saved on her phone. Not uncommon for her work phone truth be told. She walks back on her phone, back to last calls, where she was supposed to call Titus from. There the number sits. A missed call, at 4:57 a.m. She frowns again.

“Lady, I’m gonna hang up if you don’t answer!” Clarke wonders why she hasn’t hung up yet.

“I’m sorry, but you called me at dawn-” Lexa starts but then the voice on the other side of the line becomes clearer in her head and she puts a face to it “Detective Griffin?”

Clarke closes her eyes and crinkles her nose in shame. She got caught.

“Hello Mrs Woods…” Suddenly she feels like she’s thirteen again and her mom caught her trying to sneak out of the house for the first time.

Lexa stares at the wall in front of her in confusion.

“Wha- Why- Why did you call me at 4 in the morning, detective? And how did you know it was me? Why did you pretend not to know it was me?”

“It’s a complicated story…” Clarke laughs nervously “You see I… The thing is… Last night…” Clarke tries to start. _I was up all night yesterday and saw you on a random show and stupidly decided to call you from my personal phone that shouldn’t have your number on it to start it because I feel this pull towards you that I can’t explain._ Yeah, that doesn’t seem like the best course of action

“Take your time, Clarke” She hears Alexandria say. That small hint of amusement that seems to make its way into her voice when she talks to Clarke is back.

Clarke sighs.

“I might have tried to call you… From my personal phone.” The detective admits.

“For what reason exactly?” Lexa inquires. This woman keeps making her way back into her life for some reason.

“Well… For starters, you aren’t all that bad looking.” Clarke’s flirting. She flirts when she’s nervous and it usually works in her favor. With this woman, God knows if it would.

Lexa has to let a small chuckle out.

“Thank you detective, you aren’t too hard on the eye either” she starts “but that doesn’t answer my question.” Lexa reclines herself a bit on the chair, crossing her legs.

“I don’t know.” Clarke admits. Because really. She doesn’t know.

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

“So, you called me before the sun was even out and you don’t know why?” Lexa bit her bottom lip, intrigued.

“Yup.”

“That sounds unlikely Clarke.”

The use of her first name does something to Clarke. She still can’t point out what it is exactly about the way that the other woman rolls the L and clicks the K in her name that makes her react to it the way she does.

“You… intrigue me.”

“I intrigue you, detective?”

“Very much so. I guess I’m trying to figure you out.” Clare smirks. It’s been a while since she flirted like this with someone she found as enticing as Alexandria.

“Figure me out? Like a puzzle?”

“Yes, like that.”

“You barely have any of the pieces detective…” Lexa realizes she’s crossing a line. A line Anya will probably scream at her for crossing.

“Are you flirting with me Alexandria?”

“Lexa,” The nickname is out of her mouth before she can stop it. She dislikes being called by her full name “call me Lexa.”

Clarke nods even if the other woman can’t see her.

Lexa closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.

The line is crossed.

“Ok. Lexa.” Clarke tries the name, quietly. It’s nice. It suits her.

Lexa can’t help but smile. Clarke says her name softly and she can’t remember the last time her name sounded so pleasing to hear as it does in Clarke’s raspy voice.

There’s a silence and Lexa feels awkward. Middle school awkward.

“And yes, maybe I am.” Lexa admits. “Flirting with you, that is.”

Clarke takes a deep breath. Wow, this was going somewhere.

“Good to know.”

“Yeah? And why’s that Clarke?” Lexa’s aware she should have hung up by this point. But something in her is telling her to keep talking and she’s having an awful time fighting it.

“For starters, it tells me that I got some kind of chance.” Clarke’s feeling cocky now that Lexa’s admission of flirtatious intent came

Lexa lets out a deep hearty chuckle. Clarke doesn’t have a chance, not really. She’s funny, daring, too cocky for her own good and way in over her head with trying to flirt with the heiress. Yet, Lexa let’s her.

“Gee, no need to kick a girl down like that.” There’s no hurt in Clarke’s words, but the chuckle clearly sent some message to her.

Lexa chuckles again. When was the last time she felt so at ease during a conversation?

“I’m sorry, but I might be too much sand for your truck Clarke.” Lexa admits, her tone amused but there’s truth behind those words.

“I’ve handled pretty, rich girls before, don’t worry.” Not widowed ones, nor one’s in charge of a whole empire, but Clarke can make it work.

Lexa can’t help but smile at the girl’s persistence.

“And how do you intend on ‘handling’ me detective?”

Clarke feels her breathing ger heavier. Lexa can hear it and the realization of what her words might be interpreted as falls upon her.

“I- I didn’t mean it like that…” Lexa’s voice gets higher and she feels her face get hot and flustered. Sliding a bit down in her chair, she gives herself a weak attempt to hide from embarrassment.

Clarke’s a bit speechless. She answered the phone expecting to get scolded and hung up on and now she has the heiress of Trikru Inc. suggestively flirting with her. And being adorably embarrassed by it she might add.

“Lexa, it’s fine. I won’t read more into it than what you want me to.”

Lexa sighs in relief at Clarke reassurances.

“Thank you, Clarke.” It’s soft. The softest Lexa has yet to speak to her.

“Don’t worry about it.” Clarke reassures once more.

Lexa can’t help but smile. Clarke’s sweet.

She’s about to say something when her phone warns her of a new incoming call. Moving it away from her ear Lexa sees the caller ID. Titus. _Shit._

“Shit! Hum, Clarke, I have to go.” Lexa says back into the phone.

“Oh, right. Sure, sure. You gotta go back to your life. Go ahead.” The disappointment in Clarke’s voice is obvious. So, so obvious that it makes Lexa’s heart skip a beat. It shouldn’t but goddamn it if she doesn’t want to stay on the phone with her just a little bit longer.

“I’m gonna hung up now Clarke. Goodbye.” Yet, Lexa doesn’t make any movement to try and ends the call.

“Bye Lexa, talk to you later.”

Lexa nods, the corner of her lips turning up.

“Talk to you later, Clarke.” Her voice is soft once more.

Hang up tone. Clarke hung up.

Lexa doesn’t answer Titus call on time and tries to convince herself to call him back right away. She barely listens to what he says and the older man notices, prompting him to give her a whole lecture about duty and distractions, earning him a call ended in the middle of sentence.

At night, she stares at the ceiling while laying in bed. _Talk to you later._ Why would she answer back with that? Was she planning on talking to Clarke later? Was she ready for this, whatever _this_ was? She didn’t want a relationship. Lord, she couldn’t handle a relationship. Not when her engagement and wedding ring still feel like they are an extension of her and the Costia’s picture still looks at her from it’s place next to the bedroom door.

In her nightstand, her phone buzzes one time. It’s a text message and Lexa ponders looking at it, not in the mood to handle anything. Ultimately she decides to read it and decide afterwards if she’ll answer.

The number is still unsaved. But sure enough, it’s her.

**

Maybe sending the message wasn’t the best idea. But then again, Lexa did say _talk to you later_. Maybe Clarke was reading to much into it, even if she promised she wouldn’t. But was she? Or was she reading exactly what Lexa had laid in front of her?

Either way, the message is sent.

**[9:26 p.m.] You:**

_But if I was to read a bit into it, maybe I could ‘handle’ u to have a coffee w/ me??_

**[9:28 p.m.] You:**

_Feel free to ignoer_ _me if I AM reading too much into it_

Clarke’s about to grab her keys to go and meet Raven down at the bar when her phone buzzes.

**[9:33 p.m.] Alexandria W:**

_I would much rather if we kept this more discreet for now. Meaning, it is a no to the coffee._

Clarke sighs at the rejection. At least she shot her shot.

**[9:34 p.m.] Alexandria W:**

_Non the less, our talk was nice. I wouldn’t mind repeating it Clarke._

Maybe it’s not a complete rejection. Clarke takes what she can get.

**[9:34 p.m.] You:**

_Sure, anytime :)_

**[9:35 p.m.] Alexandria W.:**

_Great! Goodnight Clarke!_

**[9:35 p.m.] You:**

_Gnight Lexa :)_

Clarke can’t help but smile as she clicks send. God, she’s never been gladder for her poor impulse issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope yo enjoyed it :D  
> As always kudos and feedback are always appreciated as well as any question!


	6. Abstract and Concrete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clarke slowly develop a relationship through text messages

Her phone hasn’t buzzed in a few and, for the first time in the past few weeks, that’s strange. So, Clarke keeps staring at the device and it keeps staring back, mocking her with a lack of text messages. This would be bad workplace practice if she wasn’t all done with her paperwork and the cases in Arkadia weren’t close to zero on a regular day.

Lexa has yet to answer her text.

They had been texting lately. A lot. More than the other woman asked for when she suggested they talk more, most likely. They were never too serious or too personal texts and it wasn’t like Clarke was texting her at the early hours of the morning or until late at night like a teenager, after all, they are both grown adults with jobs and lives outside of texting each other. Well, Lexa is. Clarke’s the one who starts most conversations though. The other woman is, and Clarke is being nice when she says this, fucking awful at texting. Which is very adorable of Lexa, in her opinion. She’s entirely too formal and is one name signing away from sounding like her mom whenever she sends a message. Lexa is also bad at social queues it seems. Pick up lines are something Clarke found the heiress doesn’t understand, so, obviously, is what Clarke likes to bombard her with.

**[01:15 p.m.] You:**

_Can I follow you?_

**[01:17 p.m.] Lexa:**

_Excuse me?_

**[01:18 p.m.] You:**

_My mom always told me to follow my dreams_ 😉😉

**[01:20 p.m.] Lexa:**

_What?_

_Clarke, I’m too busy for your nonsense._

**[01:35 p.m.] You:**

_Maam ure under arrest! Being that pretty is illegal!!!_

**[01:38 p.m.] Lexa:**

_I’m not an expert on the law but I’m almost positive that doesn’t constitute as a crime._

**[01:39 p.m.] You:**

_Ur killing me woman!!_

Clarke’s been keeping it light. It was clear Lexa wasn’t comfortable with any kind of more steamy messaging and even the innocent flirting ones were sometimes met with a colder response when the other woman didn’t feel at ease. When she did, however, Lexa could even manage to be funny. Not laugh out loud funny, but the kind of funny that made Clarke want to get on her bike,, which was now finally safe at home and working again, thank god, grab Lexa’s face and kiss her. Or kiss what she remembers her face to look like. Lexa doesn’t seem to be a fan of leaving her house. Which, fair, Clarke probably wouldn’t want to walk around in the cold of Arkadia if she didn’t know the first thing about the town either. Clarke knows she goes out sometimes to attend to her duties, but their friendship doesn’t seem to be at a point where those duties can be shared yet. Again, fair. It’s not like Clarke is sharing police business with Lexa.

The phone vibrates and Clarke jumps to grab it. In the corner of her eye she sees Raven look up as rustling comes from Clarke’s desk, her eyes narrowing at her. Clarke can feel the interrogation coming from a mile away. Hopefully her best friend will wait until their shift is over.

**[02:13 p.m] Lexa:**

_Now that would get me arrested!_ 😊

Cute. Clarke can’t help the smile that shows in her face as she reads the text.

“What’cha smiling about?” Clarke looks startled as Raven’s voice resonates much closer than she expected.

Lexa had asked her to keep it discreet. Realistically, she could see why. Clarke was a nobody, a small detective from a small town. Lexa was a big shot from the big city. Not only that, but she was somewhat in the public eye. But this was Raven. The girl who’s been through hell and back with her. Fuck, they even shared a boyfriend at some point, even if none of them was aware of it at the time. And it’s not like her and Lexa are going out, they are acquaintances at the very least and maybe friends at most. Still, Clarke doesn’t want to break Lexa’s trust right off the bat. And for all her curiosity, Raven has always been the most understanding of friends.

“It’s nothing.” The smile that still hasn’t left her lips tells Raven that it’s a lie and Clarke knows it.

“Hmhm, sure, nothing.” Raven doesn’t even have to pretend to be convinced, Clarke knows she’s not, “It’s nice to see you smile. Can’t remember the last time you smiled like that.”

But she can and Clarke knows it. She hasn’t smiled like this since Finn. They both know it, but they avoid his name. The second anniversary of his death is quickly approaching. They avoided his name at the funeral. They avoided his name when they slept together in a strange attempt at closure. And they avoid his name now. Clarke’s not sure if it's healthy but healthy coping mechanism and Clarke never really got along, so, who’s to say.

“It’s just talking. At least for now.” Because, it is. Sure, there’s a tension between her and Lexa that Clarke can’t really touch on yet but, for now, it’s simply talking.

“He, she or they?” Raven asks, curiosity in her voice.

Clarke’s grateful she’s keeping the interrogation light.

“She.” Clarke can see the wheels inside of her friend’s smart head turning. She’s clearly going through the gay Arkadia women list in her head. Clarke decides to spare her the effort, “She’s not from Arkadia.”

This confession gets Murphy’s attention.

“And how exactly did you meet this woman from out of town?” Murphy’s a good detective. A very good detective. She hates how he’s clearly connecting the dots.

“Dating app.” Unfortunately for him, Clarke’s an excellent liar. Perks of being the neglected child of a doctor and a detective.

“Desperate much?” Murphy jokes lightly.

“Fuck off Murphy!” Clarke must defend her lie. She’s been on dating apps before. But between the dick pics, cute girls who lived across the country and couples wanting a third one in bed, she gave up rather quickly.

“She’s hot?” Murphy asks.

Clarke doesn’t need to lie to answer that one, “Fucking hot.”

Murphy raises his hand, clearly asking for a high five. Clarke can’t resist but comply.

“Fuck yeah, Griffin!” He shouts, standing up from his chair, “Now, can we stop talking about Clarke’s strap-on and go for coffee or something?”

Clarke chuckles and stands up as well. From her corner of the bullpen, Octavia shouts her order, as if Clarke doesn’t already know it by heart. Grabbing her leather jacket, Clarke turns her attention to the phone once more, typing a quick response.

**[02:28 p.m.] You:**

_Ur cute_

The reply comes quicker than she expected.

**[02:28 p.m.] Lexa:**

😊.

Clarke smiles once more. So fucking cute.

Behind her, Raven clears her throat. Clarke turns around, putting her phone away in her pocket.

“What?” Clarke asks.

Raven doesn’t say anything, choosing to shrug instead. She’s smiling and Clarke can’t help but smile back at her. It’s been a while since Clarke felt this giddy and Raven knows it and is clearly happy for her. For all the shit Finn did, Clarke’s glad bringing her and Raven closer than they were before was what came out of it.

******

Anya has been Lexa’s best friend since birth. Sometimes, it feels like even before that. Lexa isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing. Don’t get her wrong, she loves the other girl like a sister. An annoying, know it all, nagging sister.

“Anya, you know I dislike take-out.” Lexa says, sighing. It’s greasy and moist and everything Lexa hates in her food.

Still, Anya ignores her, taking the fogged boxes out of the plastic bag and placing them on Lexa’s expensive wood desk, having no consideration for its well-being.

“It’s from this little family owned restaurant in town. I had lunch there yesterday, the food is delicious, you’ll love it!” Anya comments as she opens the lid of the plastic container, letting the steam come out of it.

The other woman can’t deny that it does smell wonderful. She still hates take-out though.

“We have food here.” Lexa states, “Professionally cooked food, I may add.”

“But it’s food cooked by a private chef. It has no soul to it!” Anya complains.

Anya is born to money much like herself. A lawyer family associated with her own family for decades now, the reason why they are as close as they are. Yet, the older girl didn’t like all the perks that came with having money. Business aside, she barely spent time with anyone inside their circle, having even managed to convince her parents to let her attend public school for a short period of time, time she spent mostly going out to high school parties and hanging out with people her parents are paid to put in jail. As time went by, Lexa had become accustomed to never expect Anya to pick a Michelin star restaurant or go see a play at a fancy theater. To Anya, most things only accessible by money were soulless. Even food.

“I believe Delano would disagree.” Lexa says, referring to their personal cook. 

Truth be told, the man barely knew any seasoning other than salt, but Lexa didn’t care. Food was food. Anya knows this, judging by the incredulous look she gives her. Lexa dismisses it with a hand wave. Grabbing the container meant for her, Lexa studies the inside. After deeming it good enough, she grabs a fork and takes a bite.

From the other side of her desk, Anya stares at her impatiently.

“So?” The lawyer asks.

It’s better than Delano’s food.

“It’s good.” She states, matter of fact, moving her fork around to grab another bite.

Anya rolls her eyes at Lexa’s lack of enthusiasm.

“You’re fucking impossible.”

There’s a silence as they both enjoy their meal. Lexa is halfway through the container of food when the conversation resumes.

“I’ve been taking some walks around town. Place is nice. They have a dog park! Apollo will love it there.” Anya comments, between small bites, “I miss that little beast.”

At the comment, Lexa narrows her eyes.

“How dare you call my baby a beast?!” She accuses, voice coated with offense.

“He did shit all over my apartment that time you left him with me.”

“He was nervous. Besides, we cleaned it afterwards!” Lexa says, defending her big bear of a dog.

“I had to get a new couch!” Anya whines. The girl had been almost in tears when the couch was thrown away. And Anya isn’t the crying kind of woman.

“I paid for it! And Anya, please,” Lexa starts, lowering her voice a bit as if to try and prevent the next words from being heard, , “the couch was ugly, and you know it.”

“It had charm!”

“Anya, it was gross. You found it at the curb!” Lexa says, finishing her last bite of food.

“Snob.” Anya accuses, folding her napkin in a ball and throwing it at the heiress’ face as she takes a sip of water.

Lexa nearly chokes on her drink, eyes opening wide at the surprise of receiving a paper ball to the forehead. Anya doubles down in laughter, nearly falling down her chair. Lexa grabs the paper ball that now rests on her desk.

“That’s not very,” Lexa pauses, throwing the ball as hard as she can back at her lawyer “fucking lady like!”

Anya laughs again, mouth agape.

“Alexandria!”

“Argh, don’t call me that.” Lexa whines. 

Anya composes herself and starts cleaning up the two containers of food.

“As I was waiting for this _delicious_ food to be prepared, one of the detectives from the other day came in.” Anya continues to speak as she sits down in one of the armchairs next to the fireplace, legs crossed, lighting her cigar. Everyone has a vice.

“Oh?” Lexa wishes her voice hadn’t come out sounding as curious as it did.

Anya raises an eyebrow at this. Lexa pretends not to notice this by entertaining herself with pouring a glass of wine for herself. After a pause, Anya continues.

“Yeah. The cute one.” Anya says, biting the cigar in her mouth. She’s quietly testing her. If there’s something Anya uses to her advantage in and out of the courtroom is her ability to read people. She knows Lexa is affected by Clarke. Luckily she has yet to tell her about her and the detective’s message exchange.

Lexa doesn’t fall for the lawyers testing, instead she settles in the armchair next to hers, raising her eyebrow in a questioning manner.

Anya nods, acknowledging her failed tactic. For the time being.

“It was the one who was talking to detective Griffin at the funeral if you can recall.” Anya continues, staring at the fire.

Lexa nods. Brunette, same height as Clarke. Raven, if Lexa remembers Clarke’s texts gushing about her teammates. The detective had been proudly gloating about her mostly female team with Raven being the one mentioned the most. She sounded like a nice girl.

“I do. She is cute.” Lexa answers, looking at Anya. The other woman keeps staring at the fire and at Lexa’s agreement of the level of cuteness of the detective, she can see her friend’s high cheeks become redder.

The sight nearly makes Lexa giggle like a schoolgirl.

“Oh my goodness Anya Green, you have a crush!”

“Oh, fuck right off Lexa, what am I, twelve?” Anya rolls her eyes at her friend.

Lexa smiles at her, amused.

She can’t remember a time where Anya liked someone. As in, actually liked someone. Sure, she had the odd girlfriend here and there, Luna being the one relationship Lexa can remember by name and that is only due to Luna being part of their ‘friends by family association’ group. Still, Anya wasn’t the kind of girl to like someone, much less crush on them.

Then again, neither was Lexa, not with anyone other than her wife. But then Clarke happened. Lexa isn’t sure it can be called a crush. A crush sounds too juvenile, too carefree for Lexa to feel like that’s the name to put on whatever is happening between them. A crush means a mix of feelings. Feelings Lexa can’t bring herself to feel without them being overshadowed by guilt. When guilt overcomes her, when Clarke makes a comment that’s too close for comfort or when her words make her feel those butterflies she promised herself she would never allow herself to feel again, it’s when she shuts Clarke down. And as much as she enjoys talking with Clarke, enjoys having a _friend_ of sorts that isn’t involved in her way of living, she hates how Clarke seems to just stay. She says sorry for whatever it is she said that makes Lexa shut her down and then leaves her alone for a few hours before coming back with a video of her cat doing something cute or a question about flying on a private jet or whatever light hearted conversation the other girl wants to have. And as much as Lexa just wants to not answer, something about the detective pulls her back in.

Her phone vibrates. Both her and Anya’s attention are brought to it.

**[03:24 p.m.] Dt. C. Griffin**

_Quickly!!!!!_

_Whats better pb or Nutella?????_

Anya raises an eyebrow, questioning. Messages on her work phone are extremely rare.

“Did Titus learn how to text?” Anya asks, a mix of curiosity and mocking in her expression.

**[03:25 p.m.] You:**

_Peanut Butter._

**[03:25 p.m.] Dt. C. Griffin:**

_Rich ppl have 0 taste fking hell!!!!!_

_U made me lose!!!_

“What are you smiling about?” Anya inquires, smirking.

At the question, Lexa looks up surprised. She hadn’t realized she was smiling. Suddenly, she wonders if that is something that happens whenever Clarke texts.

She’s getting ready to make up some excuse of why a text to her work phone would have made her smile, but the ringing of the phone saves her. Looking at the ID the heiress sighs and answers.

“Lexa.”

Anya can’t hear the conversation other than the back and forth of the muffled voice of a man and Lexa’s short and direct answers. Whatever it might be, their quiet time is over.

“I’ll call Indra. See you soon. Thank you.” Lexa hangs up the phone and sighs, frustrated.

The conversation didn’t last more than two minutes with minimum information being exchanged but by looking at Lexa, it would be assumed it was a complete one-hour powerpoint presentation.

“Who was it this time?” Anya questions, uncrossing her legs and getting up from the comfortable armchair.

“One of Nia’s men. He went meddling in some old files he shouldn’t have access to. You would think a company dedicated to high security would be more careful when hiring.” Lexa complains, making her way to her desk and sitting down.

“Where was he stationed?”

Lexa’s locked jaw tells Anya that it’s more serious than she thought.

“Here in Arkadia.” She simply states.

“Should I be here for this conversation?”

“No.” Lexa answers, firmly. Opening the locked drawer on her right side the heiress takes out an old phone which she quickly starts to make work through.

“Very well,” Anya starts, grabbing the blazer that sits thrown over the chair opposite to Lexa’s. With her cigar back in her mouth, the lawyer approaches the door, opening it and leaving, not before sending a friendly wave in Lexa’s direction.

Lexa reciprocates the wave in the form of a simple hand raising gesture, phone stuck between her shoulder and ear.

“Indra.” There’s a pause “Yes, how soon can you get to Arkadia?”

The conversation is quick. And yet, Lexa already feels so drained. She despises this part. Trikru is her everything. Her family’s everything. It has always worked the same. As it grew, it’s so called traditions just became more and more cemented. And for the first time since it started, Lexa wants them to change. It won’t erase the sins of the past nor the sins of the present but it’s a change, nonetheless. Still, the old guard money, the wrinkly men that sit in charge of the companies below her don’t approve change. Not all at once. They barely approve of her. She’s the last of her line. If she falls, Trikru falls with her. Lexa can’t let that happen. So, for now, she conforms to what needs to be done. Even if that’s what got her wife killed. Even if it’s what gets her killed.

What needs to be done, will be done. 

******

The Griffin’s house is located in the most upper middle-class neighborhood in Arkadia. It’s the one with the bigger houses, big green yards and a pool in the back. As a child, Clarke saw it as the prettiest place in Arkadia. As an adult Clarke can see behind the pretty walls and has come to dislike being here. Her mother’s new, at the time, car always blended so well with the streets as she drove her back from school and soccer practice that Clarke just felt like this is where she belonged. Now her old dirty bike makes too much noise riding up her childhood’s house street as this neighborhood slowly becomes the only place in town where Clarke feels like she’s an outsider. Still, for the sake of trying to stay on good terms and honoring her father’s memory, Clarke comes back every month, to have an uncomfortable dinner with her mother.

Clarke parks her out of place bike on the driveway and takes off her helmet just as her mother is opening the door to come and greet her.

“Honey, hi, there you are! I was starting to think you were going to bail on me.” Are Abby Griffin’s first words as she greets her daughter.

Clarke can’t say she didn’t think about turning back around the whole drive here.

“Hey mom. I’m only like,” Clarke looks at the worn-out watch on her wrist “ten minutes late.”

“Fifteen actually,” Abby corrects her, “your dad never adjusted the five minutes on that watch, and it seems, neither did you.”

The detective nods, taking a deep breath. She’s not a fan of talking about her father with her mom. It always makes the already heavy atmosphere between them heavier.

“Well, like you always said, I am my father’s daughter.” Clarke states quickly, in an attempt to move the small talk about her father along.

“That you are.” Abby says, quietly, as her hand moves up to brush a strand of Clarke’s short hair behind her ear.

At the motion, Clarke takes a step back, gulping. She hates how Abby will touch her as if she’s still her teenage daughter who needs the comfort she never gave her. At her reaction, Abby drops her hand, sighing.

“C’mon in.” At that, her mother starts moving towards the house.

Clarke follows her inside, helmet secured underneath her arms. Once inside the warm walls of the house she knows like the palm of her hand, Clarke rests her helmet and leather jacket on the couch. At this, her mother crinkles her nose.

“You should get a car Clarke; they are much safer.”

Clarke sighs. There’s always something that before her mother had no objection over and now seems to be a problem.

“I like my bike. And it’s not like I have the money to buy a car.” Clarke states, dismissively, in hopes her mother will drop it before it turns into another argument.

Abby’s searching around for the tableware in the cabinets and seems to either not take the hint or ignore it completely.

“I can pay for it honey, it’s really no issue.”

Clarke’s tired of yelling at her to stop throwing money at her in hopes to fix everything in her life, to stop pretending that now she cares for her well-being. So, she simply sighs.

“I’ll think about it.” It’s all she offers. It’s all she’s able to offer. Because Clarke knows she won’t think about it.

“Thank you.” Abby thanks her, smiling. Clarke smiles back, because, after everything is said and done, she’s still her mother. “Will you put the plates on the table? My meatloaf is just about done!”

Clarke can’t help the surprise that overtakes her.

“You cooked?” Clarke asks, completely shocked.

Abby isn’t a cook. Or a baker. Or anything kitchen related. In her most sincere opinion, Abby shouldn’t be allowed within five-mile of a kitchen oven. Her dad was the one who cooked around the house. Which wasn’t saying much, as the man was more of a barbecue kind of cook. Unfortunately for Clarke, she was her mother’s daughter as much as she was her father’s and cooking wasn’t something she was great at either. Take out or frozen meals was usually their go-to meal.

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’ve been watching some online movies and I’m learning my way around the kitchen!” Abby sounds excited, although Clarke can’t help but be skeptical about her mom’s cooking. She has every reason to be.

“Again, they’re called videos mom, videos. Not movies.” Clarke tries. Her mother shrugs and dismisses her and Clarke can only shake her head, grabbing the two plates and setting the table.

Abby talks the most over the dry meatloaf. Clarke isn’t a fan of hearing about all the difficulties the local clinic her mom runs is having. There isn’t a single place in Arkadia that isn’t struggling right now. People keep moving away to find better opportunities the small town can no longer offer. The local craft store had just gone out of business the past week, leaving Clarke to buy her paints online. Raven keeps worrying the mechanic shop will shut down as they are seeing less and less traffic going in every day. The lack of an elementary school is the major setback the town has in Clarke’s uninformed opinion. It has come to the point where she barely sees any kid under the age of twelve around anymore. And the mayor seems to be unable to make it better.

“How about you?”

The question makes Clarke snap out of her trance.

“Hm?”

“How’s things with you?” Abby’s tone is one that Clarke swears only mothers and annoying relatives can reproduce. The mix of concern, curiosity and just a hint of judgment makes Clarke flinch.

“Same old. Work, home, going to the gym sometimes… More work. Painting.” When said out loud, Clarke can hear how pathetic her life sounds. She can only imagine what it must sound like to Abby, the overachieving mother who raised an overachieving daughter through and through.

Abby’s reaction is to sigh, as she wipes down her mouth. She wants to ask something else but seems to hold it off. For about ten minutes.

“So, no special someone in your life yet?” Abby tries again, as they clean the dishes.

Clarke feels almost tempted to talk about Lexa. But if she hasn’t said anything to Raven, she’s for sure not gonna share it with her mother.

“Nope.” It’s a definite answer.

Abby knows Clarke doesn’t enjoy talking much about her love life. She used to, as a teen, but that was for attention, because she wanted her mother to care. She tried to find the most daring looking people to date. And still, never got a single reaction from her. Abby had only met Finn a few days before the relationship, and Finn, met their disastrous end. So no, Clarke wasn’t about to tell her about Lexa and whatever their relationship was.

Lexa hadn’t crossed her mind all night. The girl had left her on read around lunch time and hadn’t gotten back to her yet. Of course, she most likely had important things to attend to and responding to Clarke’s vague texts about peanut butter and Nutella were certainly not on top of the list of to-dos.

Her phone buzzes.

Clarke prays that Lexa is an actual mind reader and decided to text her back and that the buzz doesn’t mean another late night back at the precinct.

**[8:47 p.m.] Lexa:**

_Remember how you said you really like TonDC?_

Clarke furrows her brows in confusion.

“Work?” Her mother asks on the other side of the kitchen isle.

“Hm, no.” The answer is quiet as Clarke writes her response.

**[8:49 p.m.] You:**

_Yeah, y?_

**[8:50 p.m.] Lexa:**

_Want to come over now and have a drink?_

_I’ll give you the grand tour!_

Clarke barely writes back a _sure_ before she’s nearly sprinting to her jacket. Abby follows behind, confused at her daughter’s sudden hurry.

“Is everything okay?” Abby’s tone is coated with worry, but it quickly fades away when Clarke turns to her, a smile plastered on her face.

“Yeah everything’s great. Uh, sorry, something came up.” Clarke can’t help the rush and excitement her voice gives away. She can’t place it either. Is she excited to see the mansion that appears so often in her dreams? Is it because she gets to see Lexa for the first time since they started talking? Her mind is racing too much to help her find the answer.

“Oh, it’s fine honey. Let me just go get a container for you to take some of the meatloaf home.”

“Hum, don’t worry about that mom, really!” Clarke’s almost out the door when Abby comes back, dry meatloaf safely inside a yellowing microwavable container.

“Here you go honey!” Her mother exclaims.

Clarke manages a closed smile at the thought of eating her mother’s cooking again tomorrow, “Thanks mom…”

Her mother waits for her to pull out of the driveway, waving goodbye at her as the front wheel of her bike hits the road.

“Love you, be safe.” It's nearly a yell and Clarke’s sure the whole street hears her. If she was younger, she would be dying of embarrassment. But since she isn’t, she just gives her another closed mouthed smile before bringing her visor down and pretending her mother was able to hear the whispered _I love you too_ despite her helmet and the loud sound of her bike pulling away.

The drive to TonDC is faster from her mother’s house than it would have been from hers. She’s there in less than twenty minutes. Clarke had never done the drive through dark and tree covered road at night and most certainly had never seen TonDC up close at night, lights on, grandiose and imposing. As she walks towards the door of the mansion, she’s not sure what to expect of the rest of the night. Excitement overtook her mind on the ride here and she barely remembers if she thought at all in those twenty minutes. For a second, she even forgot she would be face to face with Lexa. The now vague memory Clarke has of the heiress face pulls up in her mind. She can’t really picture her smiling or laughing or saying jokes like she does in their impersonal texts. She’s stoic in her memory. Clarke realizes that, until now, Lexa has been almost an abstract thought in her mind. Sure, she had seen her, and they had talked before, but it was in a completely different scenario. It was mostly for work. It was formal. She now had a different perception of Alexandria Woods.

Clarke’s excitement is renovated as she rings the doorbell, anxious to let the abstract idealization of Lexa she developed over the past weeks become concrete once more.

As she stares at the door, it slowly opens, putting abstract to concrete right there.

“Hello Clarke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun?! 👀👀  
> Thank you so much for your guys support for this fic so far :D It makes me extremely happy reading your guys comments!  
> As always, feedback is appreciated and encouraged! ;)


	7. Let's fall in love for tonight (And forget in the morning)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke goes to TonDC for an offered tour guided by Lexa herself. The evening takes a turn they both hoped it didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!   
> Sorry this one took me a bit longer but, here!, as an apology, have a nearly 10000 words chapter full of clexa! :D Hurray!

“Hello Clarke.”

Clarke quickly blinks as the image of Lexa standing at the doorway fills in the holes of the mental picture she has of her. She could have googled her if she wanted to but, at risk of breaking the girl’s trust, Clarke had resisted the temptation of searching Lexa’s name, even if just to look at pictures of her and remind herself of what the heiress’ face looked like.

“Hi.” The detective greets back.

Clarke realizes the greeting probably sounds nervous, to some people maybe even shy. Funnily enough, she doesn’t feel either of those things. But as she stares at Lexa after three weeks of non-stop texting, the feeling of uncertainty about whatever the relationship between them was is what comes rushing back at her.

Lexa gives her a small smile before opening the door wider and stepping aside “Come on in.”

Clarke nods and steps forward, burying her hands on the back pockets of her jeans as the warmness of the inside of the mansion takes the coldness of the outdoors away. She’s once again stars truck by the inside of the mansion now bathed in the warm bright light of the old chandelier that hangs from the high celling of the entrance hall of TonDC.

The heavy wooden door closes behind her.

“Would you like something to drink?”

Clarke turns around to look at Lexa again, somewhat expecting the woman to be staring at her, maybe an eyebrow raise and a small smirk adorning her face, because that’s the image Clarke has been cultivating in her mind of Lexa’s attitude during their phone calls and text messages. Instead, Lexa’s staring at everything but her. Green eyes study their own feet and then move on to the walls before landing on Clarke to seemingly do a quick inspection. As they land on blue eyes already staring, they quickly move to the corridor that leads to the heiress’ office.

The detective smirks. Clarke Griffin makes Alexandria Woods lose her composure.

“A drink would be great Lexa.” Clarke agrees, politely.

Lexa seems to take a second to register Clarke’s answer before nodding while blankly staring at the floor. And as cute as Clarke finds it, it would probably be best to make her snap out of it before they spend the whole night awkwardly staring at each other in the entrance hall. 

“Lexa?” Clarke calls, slowly approaching her.

Lexa’s eyes snap back to her as she takes a step closer to her, “Huh?”

“The drink?” Clarke reminds her.

“Oh. Oh! Right, I’m sorry! Follow me.”

Lexa is nearly sprinting, she realizes, as she guides Clarke to her office. She can hear the detective following a bit behind, but she doesn’t turn around to confirm. There’s a feeling of unrest that wasn’t there when she sent the text nor when she got off her chair to answer the door. Truth be told, Lexa still doesn’t know why she invited Clarke over at such a late hour. It’s not like she’s expecting something to happen, because she doesn’t want anything to happen. But Clarke’s easy to talk to, she doesn’t probe her life often and, when she does, she backs off the moment Lexa offers resistance. There were no intentions behind their conversations other than the ones they both put on the table. And Lexa has been feeling immensely lonely. Anya was gone again for the night to God knows where, and the stressful past months were finally catching up to the heiress.

As they reach the office door, Lexa waits for Clarke to catch up to her. Once the girl quickens her pace and is nearly next to her, Lexa opens it, rushing inside and going straight to where the liquor sits, maybe in a too obvious manner. She silently prays Clarke hadn’t noticed, but the detective simply follows her inside, slowing her pace as she enters the office.

Lexa entertains herself by pouring their drinks in glass cups, taking a swig of it and filling it up again, before she turns around to face the cause of her unease, half expecting Clarke to be weirded out by fidgety behavior.

Except, Clarke is paying no mind to her and her quirkiness for the night. Instead, the detective head is pointed up, studying details of the adorned wooden ceiling she must have missed the first time she was here. Lexa smiles. The detective is alluring, flirtatious and slightly cockier than she should be at any given time, and Lexa can’t deny that she found her extremely attractive. But  _ cute _ was a word the detective used quite often to describe Lexa herself, not the other way around. Yet, at this moment, with her mouth shaped into a mesmerized ‘O’ and her head completely thrown back as she walks in a wanky circle around the room trying to take the ceiling all in,  _ cute _ is the only word Lexa can find to describe Clarke.

That is, until she nearly trips on the foot of the armchair and makes Lexa let out an amused snort as Clarke grabs the back of the chair in a successful attempt not to fall.

“Shut up.” Clarke grumpily tells her. The hint of a smile in the corner of her lips betrays her tone of voice.

Lexa has to bite her lip to suppress the second snort that wants to make its way out. Instead she smirks, staring at Clarke..

And she stares back.

It takes Lexa a full two seconds to convince herself to look away, because  _ this _ is not what ‘not wanting anything to happen’ entails. 

“Here’s your drink.” Lexa offers, trying to break the moment they were having.

Clarke thanks her as she takes the glass from her hand. Her fingers brush Lexa’s and the heiress can’t tell for sure if it was entirely accidental. The deep breath Lexa seems to take as soon as the glass is safe in Clarke’s hand tells the detective that the touch didn’t go unnoticed.

“Sorry, the whiskey is on the cheaper side.” Lexa apologizes, staring at her own cup and avoiding eye contact once more.

Clarke shrugs. If there’s something she’s used to is cheap whiskey. Taking a sip, she flinches a bit as the alcohol goes down her throat. This is anything but cheap whiskey.

“You don’t like it?” Lexa asks, concern for her guests’ palate in her voice.

“No, no, I dig it, but hum,” Clarke interrupts herself, looking down as she stirs the whiskey around, trying to be careful with her following words “this is not cheap whiskey. This is rich people whiskey.”

Rich isn’t an insult, far from it. But Clarke still feels like she’s somewhat shaming Lexa for thinking this is what cheap whiskey is. Her cheap whiskey is around eight bucks and she still has to include it in her weekly budget. There’s no way this one is below the twenty dollar mark.

Lexa looks down at her own cup, furrowing her brow and looks back at Clarke, who has moved the cup back to her mouth to take another sip.

“It’s only 70 dollar a bottle.” Lexa’s voice is quiet, the statement made more for herself than for her company

Clarke nearly gags as she hears the price, coughing hard as the golden liquid goes down the wrong pipe.

“Are you okay, Clarke?”

Lexa is quick to reach her as she coughs the burning in her throat away. Before Clarke knows it, the heiress’ warm hand is on her back, taping it so slightly. It’s a rather useless thing people do but Clarke can’t help the turning in her stomach as she feels the light touch in her back. It takes her a few seconds to get her composure back. When she does, she turns back to face a concerned Lexa.

“Okay,” Clarke gulps the uncomfortable sensation of the burning away and replaces it with a smirk “It’s not rich people’s whiskey,”she clears her throat, “It’s rich-rich people’s whiskey.”

Clarke holds Lexa’s confused gaze for a while before the heiress rolls her eyes playfully and distances herself from her, trying to hide the amused smile the other woman was able to steal from her by settling against her desk, in the same position she was in when Clarke first laid eyes on her. The difference between then and now is the openness with which Clarke let’s her eyes study the heiress’ form, from the loose curls and waves of her chestnut brown hair falling on her off-white button up shirt, to the curve of generous hip in tight black jeans  that ends just barely above simple black heels. She licks her lips, feeling them lose their moisture. Lexa’s face was not the only thing the detective had been trying to get the full picture of.

The woman in front of her moves and sits her empty glass on the desk, bringing Clarke’s attention back to her face. Her eyes are narrowed, and her head is slightly tilted. For an instant, Clarke fears she has made her uncomfortable but the smirk that’s present in pretty red lips mirrors the one that creeps on her own mouth.

“Shall we begin the tour?” Lexa questions, standing upright.

_ Or is there something else here that you find more interesting? _

The inviting question is at the tip of Lexa’s tongue and she mentally reprimands herself for having such a thought.

_ You’re a married woman. _

And even so, the weaker part of her has the audacity to try and refute her.

_ Costia’s gone. _

_ Not in my heart. _

“Yeah, sure!” Clare had nearly forgotten that’s what she was here for. “Lead the way.”

She mentally slaps herself. Of course she would lead the way, it’s her fucking house. If Lexa notices Clarke’s awkward statement, she ignores her.

“Follow me.” Lexa urges, signaling with her head to the door. And for the first time that night, Clarke can tell the closed smile Lexa offers her is forced.

TonDC Mansion is very much everything Clarke thought it would be. Grandiose, immense, and imposing. Lexa guides her through the corridor adjacent to her office in which the wooden paneling extends through. The vague smell of paint and construction is now gone from the house, replaced with that centuries old house smell that not even the strongest deep cleaning would be able to take away. The décor doesn’t get more personal as they advance through the long corridor, the old paintings and the ancient tapestry that adorn the walls are beautiful and most certainly very expensive, but it makes the mansion feel like an exposition, not a home.

Because it isn’t a home, it’s just a house. Just a shell occupied by its current inhabitants. Lexa had mentioned in their texts that she isn’t here permanently. This isn’t her home, her home is back in Polis, in the big city, maybe the same place where she planned her life with her wife once upon a time, not this mansion at the edge of a town with little to offer to its current residents, much less newcomers.

“We avoided changing anything that had to do with the architectural aspects of the house,” Lexa explains once she notices Clarke inspecting the details in the wood arches of the hallway.

Clarke smiles, “I appreciate that. The whole town does.”

“This mansion seems very dear to you, Clarke. Why’s that?”

Clarke’s taken aback by the change in tone of the conversation.

“No particular reason, really. It’s just a big mark of Arkadia that makes me proud of being from here.” Clarke admits, “And I’ve always loved how beautiful it is… It was like my unattainable fairytale home when I was a kid and I guess that stuck with me growing up, you know?”

Lexa nods but Clarke doesn’t trust that she does, indeed, know. If she had to take a wild guess, she would assume there shouldn’t be much Lexa wanted growing up that wasn’t given to her.

The odd conversation ends there for the time being. Lexa, however, isn’t done talking.

“So, the mansion has around six room, a master room with a suite, what used to be the children’s room and other four guest rooms. I can show you one of the guest bedrooms since they are all the same and the other big room is used by Anya.”

Clarke nods, slightly shocked. Her lawyer lives here too. If it ever came to that, she could at least point Raven here if she ever wanted to go hunt for Anya.

Lexa continues, “I don’t think the bathrooms would be of any interest to you so I think we can skip those. On this floor there’s my office, which you already saw, the living room, dining room, kitchen and two bathrooms. Feel free to walk and look around. We’ll start here, sounds good?”

Clarke doesn’t particularly have time to agree as they are already at the door of the first room. A quick glance at the door tells her it’s the dining room which becomes evident as they walk in. Clarke paces around the room, taking it all in. The room is smaller than the heiress’ office but not by much, with a long wood table at the center, matching chairs all around it and a stone fireplace on the wall opposed to the huge windows. It’s not a modern room. The entirety of the furniture seems to have been there since the turn of the twentieth century, the only indication it’s not being the undeniable brand-new condition they seemed to be in. Like no one ever sat there to have a meal before. Glancing at Lexa, Clarke can see her stand awkwardly at the entrance, as if she barely ever sets foot in this division, unlike the ease with which she walks around the space of her office.

“This place looks like it’s out of those historical movies.”

Lexa chuckles, “Anya said the same thing when she stepped foot in the house.”

Clarke smiles at the response, having nothing else to offer back. Glancing around, her eyes fall upon the only piece of furniture in the room that looks authentically old and approaches it with excitement.

“Is this an old liquor cabinet?”

Lexa steps closer to her.

“Yes, we found it hidden in the attic with the drinks already in it!” Lexa exclaims, a smile in her lips as she looks at Clarke, “Most of them are from the 1920’s!”

“Makes sense, TonDC used to be a speakeasy of sorts.”

“Oh?”

“Oh yeah,” Clarke nods enthusiastically, “people used to come here and drink until they collapsed.  _ Bottled Sky Brewery _ was technically implemented here, but they moved downtown shortly before the Prohibition ended…”

Lexa opens the cabinet and reaches for an honestly sketchy looking bottle “This brewery?” She asks, showing Clarke the label.

_ Ark Moonshine, 1926 – Bottle Sky Brewery  _ is handwritten on the dirty label.

“Holy shit!” Clarke exclaims, an enthusiastic smile on her face, “That’s like an historical artifact!”

Lexa wiggles the bottle in her hand, tongue showing between teeth shaped into a mischievous smile.

“Want to drink it?”

Clarke’s once again startled by the change in Lexa’s demeanor.

“Drink… the moonshine?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it probably worth like… a lot of money? Since it’s sealed and all?”

“Maybe, but what does it matter?” Lexa questions as she walks around the room, searching for something.

“I guess not…”

For the town, yes it probably mattered. Especially for the brewery. But it was technically Lexa’s property and she could very well open and dump it down the toilet if she so pleased.

“There you are.” Clarke hears Lexa exclaim in a whispered tone behind her before the ‘pop’ of the cork being released is heard.

“Clarke, do you want to take the first sip?”

Clarke turns to face Lexa, who has the bottle stretch towards her. The detective chuckles as she takes the bottle from Lexa’s hand.

“Straight from the bottle?” 

“Hm, I was thinking about grabbing some cups…“

“C’mon Lexa! I don’t have too many germs, don’t worry.” She promises, winking at her.

She watches as Lexa takes a moment to consider, an inner fight going on within her, as if this is some wild act of rebellion before taking a deep breath and nodding.

“Very well, go ahead.” She incentives.

Clarke stares at the bottle before deciding to drink. She’s about to swallow a piece of Arkadia’s history… Bottoms up!

“Uhu!” Clarke exclaims after the strong liquid goes down, “Shit, that’s strong.”

She passes Lexa the bottle and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She can already feel the whiskey from earlier, and now the moonshine, working their magic inside of her.

Lexa takes the bottle from Clarke with two hands and stares awkwardly at it. For a second her eyes lift to look at Clarke, who’s staring at her expectantly, before they go back to the bottle. She turns it in her hands to avoid letting her lips touch the exact same place Clarke’s touched, trying to convince herself that it’s simply because she wants to avoid germs.

She lets less of the drink enter her mouth then Clarke did. However, the drink seems to have a bigger effect on her, as her face contorts as the liquid burns its way down.

Clarke laughs loudly.

“And that’s what old cheap alcohol tastes like, rich girl!” Clarke exclaims merrily, bumping Lexa with her hip and stealing the bottle back to herself.

“I hated that…” Lexa admits, face still in a grimace.

Clarke chuckles again and takes another sip of the bottle. Lexa feels cheerful all the sudden. Like the awkward wall that was around her and Clarke until now had been lowered down. Or like the alcohol was already taking effect.

The bottle is passed to Lexa again, “Let’s continue?” she asks.

“Can we take the bottle?” Liquid courage seems to be what Clarke needs to break the ice between them. And she does love a good hard drink.

Lexa shrugs, “Sure.”

The kitchen isn’t of much interest to Clarke. Sure, it’s charming, the only room that’s obviously coeval with the house, the only things showing the reality of the 21 st century being the shiny new appliances, but it’s nothing that impresses Clarke the same way the more grandiose rooms do.

“We were gonna renovate it completely, but I quite prefer the more colonial charm of it.” Lexa shares as she sees Clarke’s lack of enthusiasm towards it.

“You spend a lot of time here?” Clarke questions, picking off Lexa’s statement.

“Not particularly. I wish I could.”

Once upon a time, the kitchen had been Lexa’s favorite division. In the summers back from boarding school she would spend her days in the kitchen of her father’s mansion learning how to cook and bake and she was excellent at it, if Lexa said so herself. As a married woman, Lexa pushed aside the idea of a private chef and cooked for herself and her wife as much as she could. But without someone to cook for, Lexa went back to private cooked meals just like most of her family did before her. Even so, nothing felt homier to Lexa than a kitchen made for work and not for show.

“Are you good at cooking?”

“ _ Comme si, comme ça.” _ Lexa answers modestly, the French expression said as naturally as if it was her mother tongue.

Clarke turns to her slightly confused. Lexa amusedly sighs.

“I can cook but I’m certainly not a chef.” Lexa rephrases.

The detective nods in agreement.

“I’m awful at cooking…. Big fan of eating though!” Clarke confesses, unprompted. Taking another sip of the moonshine, Clarke continues, “Hey, maybe you could cook for me one of these days!”

Her hostess smile falls and her more laid-back posture that had been makes its presence known more and more goes back to rigid. Clarke mentally kicks herself for overstepping, taking yet another gulp of the bottle to try to mask her embarrassment over it.

“Maybe one day.”

She wouldn’t. Lexa had only cooked for Costia.  _ Her wife. _ Lexa didn’t cook for friends, or acquaintances or people she barely knew like Clarke.

They move along to the living room without much talk. On the small walk there, Clarke silently offers the bottle back to Lexa. The other woman looks at her wordless attempt at an apology and takes it, downing a good amount before regretting it, as Lexa forgot how much she disliked the moonshine the first time around.

The living room is, like everything else, enormous. It’s a room made for entertainment, no doubt. The ceilings are high and ornamented just like Lexa’s office, long, almost palace-like curtains cover the darkness outside. There’s a grand white piano, a main sitting area and smaller ones spread around the walls of the room as well as a small drinking bar. Much like the dining room, it makes Clarke feel like she’s a museum and not in a house inhabited by other humans. She lets her mind fantasize about attending one of the parties that would have been thrown in this room decades ago, wondering if Lexa would ever use this room for its intended purpose in her short stay here.

“When are you leaving TonDC?” The question is out before she can think about it.

“In about a year, more or less.” Lexa states.

“Oh…” Clarke’s voice is coated with disappointment, “What do you plan to do with the house?”

“Selling would be ideal … Although I find it hard to see someone buying it for market price just to live in a town like Arkadia…”

Clarke gives the heiress a questioning look, a hint of offence behind it.

“Did that offend you?” Lexa’s question is genuine.

“Yes. It did,” Clarke decides to be honest as well, not that the alcohol would let her be anything else other than that, “I love my hometown and I don’t like when people bad mouth it.”

“I’m sorry Clarke, I did not mean to belittle Arkadia.” Lexa’s voice is lower, apologetic, but her eyes never leave Clarke’s face, nor do they show a hint of remorse.

Clarke shakes her head, “It’s fine. You shouldn’t try to sell it, no one would want to buy a house for that price in a run-down place like Arkadia anyways.” She shrugs her shoulders, a small, playful smile present in her face.

The heiress eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“What? I live here, I’m allowed to say shit about Arkadia if I want to!” The detective’s voice has laughter behind it.

Lexa lets an amused side smile show, “Technically, I live here too.”

“Temporary residence doesn’t count, especially when you barely leave this fortress.”

“I guess that’s fair.” Lexa agrees.

Clarke shifts her focus to appreciating the massive living room for another second before turning back to Lexa.

“Ever thought about selling it to the town? Or even invest in it as an Inn?” Clarke’s suggestions come from her own personal interest, she can’t lie about that. But TonDC is an historical mark of Arkadia that, if opened up to the public, could be a game changer for the once touristic town. It’s a shot in the dark, Clarke knows nothing about business or the intricacies of setting up a hotel of any kind, but it could seed the idea in Lexa’s head.

To her surprise, Lexa’s tilted head and pondering look tells Clarke her suggestion is being assessed.

“Do you believe that an Inn would be in the town’s interest?” This time around, the heiress’ tone doesn’t scream genuineness. There’s something behind the question but Clarke can’t quite tell what is. Personal interest maybe, the hypothetical Inn would be an investment after all.

Still, the detective wants to try and sell the fish she didn’t know she had caught.

“Yes.” Her voice is more serious this time, as if this was a real sales pitch she desperately needs to nail, “I mean, it’s a landmark, it’s connected with the settlement of this town and could bring a lot of patrons, both from in and out of town…”

Lexa simply nods, face still closed off in contemplation of Clarke’s idea.

“I’ll be sure to consider that idea when the time comes.” And with the statement comes a smile, small, but a smile, nonetheless.

Clarke smiles back.

“Thank you, both me and Arkadia would be forever grateful.”

Lexa reaches her hand out and Clarke stares at it in confusion before Lexa’s finger motions the bottle that’s been dangling lazily from Clarke’s grip. Passing it to Lexa, the detective watches the heiress’ full lips create a seal around the opening of the old bottle and how her throat moves in her neck as the liquid passes through. Once she moves the bottle away from her lips, a single drop escapes Lexa’s mouth and Clarke has to physically restrain herself from trying to wipe it before Lexa’s tongue does it for her.

Once the bottle is back in her possession, Clarke doesn’t waste time downing what must have equated to about two glasses of moonshine, hoping the feeling she knows so well forming on low on her belly will be replaced by the alcohol. She didn’t come here for that. She knew Lexa didn’t want nor was ready for even a one-night thing. And with the intense pull Clarke felt towards her, she wasn’t sure she herself was ready for whatever doing that with Lexa could bring.

“Let’s go upstairs?”

Clarke freezes and the feeling in her lowers stomach quickly makes its way down south. Looking in Lexa’s direction she sees the playful smirk she wears.

“To continue the tour?” It’s an affirmation but it has just the slightest questioning tone Lexa didn’t intent for it to have. She’s not asking if that’s what Clarke wishes to do upstairs. She’s telling both Clarke and herself that that  _ is _ the only thing they’re gonna do upstairs. Nothing less, nothing  _ more _ .

Clarke nods and starts following her, a slight sway to her step as the old moonshine clearly starts to hit. Against her better judgment, Lexa slows her pace until she’s walking side by side with Clarke instead of ahead of her. She lies to herself, pretending to do it so in the event of Clarke falling, she’ll be there to catch her instead of the truth of having the desire to feel Clarke’s arm and hand accidently touch her own the same way their fingers had slightly brushed early in the night when she gave Clarke her first glass of whiskey.

They climb the stairs slowly, Clarke holding the wooden rail to try and sturdy her legs. She reminds herself of her grandma, back when she was still living with her parents and before she kicked the bucket when Clarke was eight. If Clarke started complaining about the ‘fucking stairs hurting her fucking legs’ she would be the spitting image of the old mean hag. The thought makes her laugh which, in turn, makes Lexa look at her like she’s lost it.

“Something funny about the staircase?” Lexa tries not to sound like Clarke’s laugh doesn’t make her chest feel like it wants to burst open.

Clarke has to take a breath so she can talk clearly “No, nothing, nothing, never mind…” her voice is light and coated with amusement.

“Okay, come this way.” Lexa urges, not being able to hide the amusement Clarke’s sudden drunken state gives her, “One of the guest rooms is occupied but they are all replicas of one another so visiting one should suffice.”

Clarke frowns.

“You have a guest? Who?” Clarke hears a very distinct sentiment in her voice and for a moment she can’t place it. Then she feels it.  _ Jealousy. _

“Not that it’s any of  _ your  _ concern,” Lexa responds, “but the room is occupied by Gustus, my bodyguard.”

Clarke’s jealousy quickly leaves her, replaced by disbelief.

“You have a bodyguard?”

“Yes.” Lexa states.

“Damn… Is he here?”

“No, he had the day off.”

“But what if there was danger? I could kill you and he would not be bodyguarding very well!” Clarke’s rambling. Drinking with company does that do her. Especially when her company is making her have unholy thoughts.

Lexa rolls her eyes playfully, unable not to smile at Clarke’s silly rambling.

“You’re a detective.”

“Exactly, the perfect cover story!” Clarke has a smile on her face as well. She can’t stop it; Lexa smiling makes her want to smile back.

They stare at each other for a while.

Clarke feels light, and tipsy and horny and five seconds away from wanting to launch forward and catch Lexa’s bottom lip between her own.

Under Clarke’s gaze, Lexa suddenly feels trapped. Not by Clarke, she has yet to feel like Clarke is trying to move this towards something more without her consent. She feels trapped by herself. Trapped by the desire of touching someone, by wanting to be touched and loved again and trapped by the guilt, the shame and the fear that clouds her head at the thought of there being someone else other than the one she promised her life to.

Clarke’s eyes fixate on Lexa’s lip and she had just let the first syllable of Lexa’s name leave her mouth when the heiress speaks up over her.

“C’mon, it’s getting late and we should finish this before it gets too late.”

Clarke nods and, feeling the weight of the bottle in her hand once again, moves to drink the last of it. But before her lips touch the opening, the bottle is taken from her.

“You’ve probably had enough; I’m not trying to get you drunk.” Lexa says, softly. Softer than she wished.

“I-“Clarke wants to dispute but she can feel the alcohol setting into her bloodstream and instead just nods, watching Lexa drink the rest of the moonshine before setting the empty bottle on a long, skinny hall table, right next to a big vase with fake flowers.

They turn to the hall on the right. It’s darker here than it is downstairs, having no windows to let the moonlight in. They walk just a few steps before Lexa opens the first door on the left and let’s Clarke go in first.

“These rooms are fucking huge… I’m pretty sure they are the size of my entire apartment.” The detective exclaims, walking around the perimeter of the bedroom.

There's a queen sized bed neatly made, a side table on both sides. Much like in Lexa’s office and living room, there’s a beautiful marble fireplace. The ceilings aren’t as ornamented, a simple ceiling frame is the most there is. The room is clearly meant to be a guest room, a dresser with some candles, a bookcase and a very comfortable looking armchair are all there is to fill the emptiness of the vast space of the room.

“If you think the guest rooms are impressive, wait until you see my master bedroom!”

Clarke does half a turn to look at Lexa when she hears her voice. There’s something there. Flirtiness, maybe?

“You seem eager to have me in your room, Alexandria.” Clarke regrets saying it as soon as it leaves her mouth. She’s a flirt by nature but she also promised she would respect Lexa’s boundaries and it was clear she already crossed them once tonight.

“Don’t flatter yourself, detective Griffin.” It’s amused, flirting and daring without a trace of harshness and Clarke let’s herself relax. She’s not getting kicked out. Yet.

“It’s hard not to.”

Lexa’s eyes trail Clarke’s body without the permission of their owner. Clarke’s right, it’s hard not to. She wonders what she would find lifting Clarke’s shirt. Was the detective soft or would she have the abs of a woman who trains daily? Would her chest be covered by a sports bra like Lexa suspected or did the detective have a more feminine side and a matching lacy bra to go with it?

“Lexa?” Clarke’s voice makes her snap back to reality, her cheeks growing hot as she realizes she had been staring at Clarke.

Clarke smirks but doesn’t say anything and for that, Lexa’s thankful.

“I asked if you wanted to move along then.” The smirk doesn’t leave Clarke’s lips and Lexa feels her heart pounding.

Truth be told, the thought of taking Clarke to the place where she slept every night, where she would let her intimate thoughts fly freely, where she would relieve herself – more than once unable to fight the image of the detective from creeping into her mind – suddenly feels too much of an invasion of privacy.

Maybe that’s the reason why feeling herself nod, let out a soft ‘sure’ and turn around towards her room made her feel offended with herself.

Her room is just down the opposite hall from where her and Clarke were but the walk takes both too long and too short for Lexa’s liking. The house’s corridors are quite narrow, having the two women too walk far too close for comfort. The heat of Clarke’s body almost next to hers is making Lexa’s whole body feel hot and her thoughts get foggy but the rational part of her finds a culprit in the alcohol instead of the woman next to her.

As they reach the door, Lexa takes a deep breath. When she planned the tour in her head showing her room wasn’t on the plan. She had fully intended on ending it in the guest bedroom and then sending Clarke on her merry way. Or, after seeing Clarke’s almost intoxicated state, at most offering her to spend the night in the same room they had just visited. But now they were about to enter her room, her personal bubble, the room that not even Anya is allowed to go in, neither here nor in her penthouse back in Polis. It feels wrong and rude to tell Clarke ‘never mind’, walk her back to the guest room and tell her goodnight. She also doesn’t want to. Because there’s something about Clarke that makes Lexa throw caution to the wind and forget about the rules she was raised with and rules she made for herself growing up, the rules life taught her not to break.

Before her thoughts swallow her whole, Lexa opens the door, maybe with a bit more force than she needed, letting it fly open alone and hit the dresser that sits slightly behind it. The noise startles them both and Lexa stares at Clarke in apology just to be met with Clarke’s face shaped in an exaggerated startled expression, her shoulders up to her ears, bug eyed and bottom lip pushed out over her chin.

Lexa lets out a chuckle.

“Sorry.”

The amused smile betrays her apology. But Clarke’s already too involved in looking around the room to pay attention to her. There’s something about the way Clarke observes every detail of each room they go in that fascinates Lexa. The mansion is beautiful, Lexa can’t deny that, but for Clarke it’s much more than just a pretty house. It’s a piece of history, a childhood fantasy, nearly an impossible love that she’s just now seeing face to face. Lexa never knew what that is. She never craved anything material she wasn’t allowed to have.

As Clarke walks around the room Lexa moves to sit at the end of bed. From there, she can see the entirety of her bedroom. The decor isn’t too personal. Nothing in this house is. From the fireplace surrounded by bookshelves and two big arms chairs - because Lexa still thinks in terms of two when she perceives what her ideal space should look like - to the wardrobe that was left half opened this morning, making Lexa feel slightly embarrassed, like a child whose mother warned them to clean their room and them, in their stubbornness, didn’t comply and are now left to show a dirty room to their guest. On the floor was a big, old,  _ expensive _ rug. It had belonged to her father at some point and it was one of the only furniture Lexa didn’t sell along with her father's estate after his death. She still doesn’t know why. She hates the old thing.

“This is beautiful.”

Clarke is staring at a big painting that hangs on the wall on the right of the bed. Adorned by its original golden frame, it depicts two women in Edwardian spring clothes, pink and light and flowy, laying on a picnic blanket. Around them are small delicate flowers of different pastel colors. Their faces are turned towards each other and between, touching one of the women’s lips, are their locked hands. Costia had found it at an auction and brought it home, excited.

_ “Angel, look! They’re gay!”  _ Costia had exclaimed, making Lexa laugh. If there was something her wife couldn’t resist was anything that hinted at a secret sapphic romance.

Lexa gets up and moves to stand next to Clarke.

“They’re gay!” Clarke exclaims, pointing at the painting with her thumb, a silly smile on her face.

Her heart strings feel like they are being pulled at. They are nothing alike, Costia and Clarke. But the way Clarke exclaimed it, with the same giddy tone as Costia once had, the same excitement, makes Lexa nearly burst into tears.

Instead, she moves to the bed again, sitting down and crossing her arms in front of her chest, as if to protect herself from the hurt. From  _ Saudade _ . A word she had learned back in boarding school when taking Portuguese.  _ Saudade  _ meaning the state of intense longing for someone that’s not here anymore.

“Lexa?” She hears Clarke approaching her but doesn’t look up. If she does, she’s sure the tears that are dancing in the corner of her eyes will spill out.

With a lack of answer, Clarke seems to decide to sit next to her, by the way Lexa feels the bed shifting with weight next to her. They don’t talk for a whole minute and then Clarke’s voice fills the room.

“Are you those people who are iffy about the word ‘gay’?” Her tone is so apologetic and hushed at the end that the sad laugh is out of Lexa’s mouth before she can stop it.

Clarke’s staring at her with a half smile and Lexa’s never seen anyone look so adorably and apologetically confused in her life.

“I feel like I’m being mocked.” Clarke’s tone, however, doesn’t show offense.

Lexa takes a few breaths to calm herself down and wipe the tears out of the corner of her eyes, hoping Clare will believe them to be a product of laughter.

“I’m sorry.” Lexa begins, the remains of the laughter still present in her voice. She takes a moment to compose herself before continuing, “The painting was my wife’s. And what you said, the way you said it, it was… identical to what she said when she got it.”

Lexa takes a moment to let her words hit, before adding “Oh, and I’m perfectly fine with the word gay, don’t worry.” She adds a smile, for effect mostly.

Clarke’s nodding, her head bobbing up and down, her lips formed into a thin white line as she takes her words in.

“I shouldn’t have said anything…” It’s faint, said mostly to herself, but Lexa still hears it.

“It’s fine. There was no way for you to know.”

Clarke plays with her fingers and looks around the room once, more trying to find something, anything that she can use to stir the conversation away from Lexa’s dead wife. Her eyes settle on the bed and memories from what she had learned about TonDC in a dusty memoir found in the Arkadia history section of the library come back to her.

“This is not the original bed that was here right?”

Lexa seems confused by the sudden change of topic but welcomes it by answering.

“No, that one was broken and graffitied all over. Why?” Lexa doesn’t particularly have any interest in the why, but asks it still.

“They used to have orgies on it.” 

Clarke’s statement stunts Lexa for a second.

“Orgies?”

Clarke nods, a mocking smirk present, “You know, when a lot of men and women love each other very much and they all get in one bed and fuck each-”

“I know what an orgy is!” Lexa interrupts, playfully shoving Clarke’s arm.

“Hey!” Clarke laughs, mockingly protecting her arm, “I just wanted to make sure you had all the facts!”

The heiress rolls her eyes at the detective but is betrayed by the smile she can’t hide. Clarke stares back at her, a happy smile mirroring her own.

“Thank you Clarke.”

“For what?”

“Making me smile. I don’t do much of that anymore.” Lexa’s not sure what possessed her to admit it but it’s already out in the world by the time her head catches up.

It’s the damn booze.

“My pleasure.” Is the only thing Clarke offers, a smile still plastered on her face.

After that, everything seems to move in slow motion while Lexa’s mind races at the speed of light. She’s the one who initiates it. She’s the one who moves forward, eyes focused on pink lips still curved into a smile. Clarke meets her halfway, lips crashing into each other. Clarke’s lips are more forceful than hers, pushing Lexa back and towards her again, a hand creeping its way around the back of Lexa’s neck.

They separate for a split second which takes a moment for Lexa to register as she opens her eyes. Clarke’s nodding, lips agape like hers. A nod meaning consent. Lexa nods back before leaning forward and capturing Clarke’s lips once again, because at this moment, with the alcohol pumping through her veins, making her walls crumble down, she’s unable to stop herself from wanting this, wanting to be touched, loved, wanting to be wanted.

The detective's finger finds the first few buttons of her shirt and makes quick work of it, although still gentle. Before she knows it, her shirt is open and Clarke’s left hand is wrapping around her waist, warm hands on warm skin, pulling her up and into her lap. Lexa complies without a fight, letting herself settle on top of Clarke’s legs as the other woman moves her lips to her jaw and slowly, painfully slowly, moves downwards to her neck, all the while all hers hand grab the edges of Lexa’s open shirt, swiftly taking it off.

Lexa’s mind can barely keep up with what’s happening, all she feels are hands and lips on her body and the warm that’s spreading between her legs as Clarke continues the attack on her body, moving downer and downer until she reaches the the valley of her chest, expertly unclasping Lexa’s bra, the lacy, white material being slowly replaced on each breast by a hand. Suddenly Lexa’s mind catches up and she feels way too much fabric between her naked torso and Clarke’s clothed one. As if an auto pilot, Lexa’s hands find the hem of Clarke’s shirt, tugging at it to get Clarke to straighten up so she can get it out. But Lexa’s out of practice, more so with someone she’s never been with before. As a result she pinches Clarke’s back while struggling with her shirt.

She can feel the detectives smirk against the skin of her shoulder.

“Here.” Clarke says, straightening up and taking her own shirt off. She doesn’t move afterwards because Lexa’s is shamelessly staring, her mind foggy but still very much aware of what she’s staring at.

T-shirt bra. Both her guesses were wrong.

Clarke lets out a chuckle, lifting her chest a bit more towards Lexa, “You ok there?”

If she was sober Lexa might roll her eyes at Clarke’s cockiness, even tell her to shut up. But she’s not sober so all she does is let her body weight crash into Clarke’s for another kiss, sending them both down on the mattress. For a second, Lexa feels like she has the upper hand, but Clarke smoothly turns them around, locking Lexa’s arms above her head and breaking the kiss.

Lexa no longer has the dignity not to whine at the sudden lack of contact.

“Someone’s eager!” Clarke hovers over her, legs on each side of Lexa’s hips, blue eyes nearly black.

Lexa’s eyes stare at her pretty face down to her generous chest spilling out of her t-shirt bra, to her stomach - somewhere between soft and tight, she notes - to her lower half still covered in faded blue jeans. There’s a wave of hotness that starts at every end of her body and moves straight to her core, warning her she can’t wait anymore.

“Clarke…” It comes out like a prayer, a beg and so, so  _ eager _ that it seems to awaken something in Clarke. In a slip second she’s all over her once more, a hand still restraining Lexa’s arms and another one tracing a path for her lips follow, leaving a dark bruise on her neck, a claim, followed by a few lighter ones on the valleys of her collarbone and between her breasts.

She settles for a few minutes by giving her undivided attention to Lexa’s nipples, obviously motivated by Lexa’s breathy moans, as her tongue circles the pinkish nub, the motion mirrored by her right hand. When she switches to her right breast, her left hand comes down to continue the assault on it’s twin. Clarke doesn’t bring her right hand back up but Lexa still obeys her silent order, grasping at the sheets below her hands. As encouragement for what she must have deemed good behavior, Clarke gently bites her nipple, ripping a loud moan out of Lexa, her legs instinctively wrapping around Clarke’s hips. The position isn’t allowed for long, because Clarke unwraps them with a dismissive shove. Before Lexa has time to complain, both of the detective's hands faintly caress her long legs until they reach her jeans zipper, blindly bringing it down while her lips kiss the skin of her belly just above the jean line.

The air of the room hits her bare legs and center, underwear leaving her body at the same time as her jeans. She feels Clarke’s tongue on the inside of her thigh, above and around her mound, licking just past her inner lips, her entrance and when it finally wraps around the nub that’s begging for her the most, Lexa’s mind goes blank. She doesn’t faint, at least she doesn’t think she does, because she can still see Clarke’s blonde air moving around between her legs, she can still feel how her arms leave the position Clarke placed them on top of Clarke’s as they rest on her thighs. But her mind floats, no longer in control of the moans, the begs or the curses that she lets out. All she feels is bliss like she hasn’t felt in a long while. Whatever worries were on her mind that morning, whatever sadness waved over her that night, it was all gone. All she could see, all she could feel was Clarke, her hands gripping her hips and her thighs, her lips, the satisfied smirk she still wears in response to Lexa’s moans, her  _ tongue _ .

Her climax shakes her into exhaustion. Clarke’s dominant demeanor gives way to a more caring one as she helps Lexa ride out her orgasm, kissing her way back up as Lexa tries to regain control of her breathing. Once Clarke’s face reaches Lexa’s, she can feel her eyes close. Clarke’s lips on hers wake her back up.

“Hey.” Lexa whispers.

Clarke smiles down at her and Lexa, drowsily, smiles back.

“Hey. How about we get you underneath the sheets and off to sleep?” Clarke whispers back, leaving a kiss on Lexa’s forehead but not before wiping her now shining mouth and chin.

Lexa nods as an answer, wanting nothing more than to cuddle and fall asleep close to her.

Clarke smiles once more, kissing Lexa’s cheek. She hurriedly gets off from on top of her and Lexa can hear the comforter and the sheets of her bed being drawn, Clarke fluffing both pillows before coming back to stand next to her.

“C’mon.”

Clarke extends her hand to her and she takes it, allowing her to guide her shaky legs to the top of the bed. Lexa lays down underneath the sheets, sleepily watching as Clarke takes off her jeans, leaving her only in her boy shorts – a surprise to Lexa – and her bra. Lexa cuddles herself on to Clarke as soon as she sits on the bed making the other woman chuckle when she barely let’s her lay down properly.

They lay together in perfect silence until Lexa shots up.

“You didn’t- I didn’t- To you-” She’s stumbling on her words and she’s hyper aware of that, either because of her exhaustion or from the actual drunkenness settling in.

“Lexa. Lexa,” Clarke tries to calm her down, voice already coated with sleep, “It’s fine.” And she genuinely sounds like it is, fine.

But Lexa still pouts.

“But I want to.” Her voice is small and whiny, and it makes Clarke’s smile turn into one of someone staring at a puppy pleading for a treat. Lexa realizes Clarke’s probably thinking what she had called her countless other times. Cute.

With a mocking exaggerated sigh, Clarke agrees, laying back down on the softness of the mattress. Lexa smiles, victorious, laying down next to her and making sure she has enough space between their bodies to let her hands explore.

And explore, they do.

Lexa has a hand on Clarke’s left breast, finger wrapped around it, a juvenile giggle leaving her when she realizes she’s not able to fit it all in one hand. The other one’s caressing the inside of Clarke thigh before sneaking underneath the boy shorts and quickly getting to work.

Clarke's breath is shaky as it hits her forehead, the woman’s lips barely touching it. She has a hand buried in Lexa’s hair, massaging her scalp, more forceful when she wishes to urge Lexa on. Clarke’s quieter than her, the moans lower and throatier than Lexa’s high ones. She also takes longer than her to reach climax. Not that she’s complaining, Lexa’s enjoying Clarke’s hand on her hair and the hotness of her breaths. But when it starts to take more time than she expected, Clarke starts to get frustrated.

“Lexa, faster.” Also unlike her, Clarke doesn’t beg. She demands. And Lexa is happy to submit.

Clarke’s orgasm spends them both. As soon as Clarke’s done, Lexa’s fingers are out of Clarke, arm is thrown around the woman and legs tangled with each other. Lexa’s head finds rest just above Clarke’s chest and she lets herself be lulled to sleep by the detective's heavy breathing starting to slow as she, too, falls into slumber. As her conscience drifts away, Lexa concludes she’s drunk; from the whiskey, the moonshine and  _ Clarke _ . That’s all she can think about. There’s no one else. Just  _ Clarke.  _

***

She feels the light in her eyes even before she’s awake. She had forgotten to draw the curtains again. The air in the room is warm but her naked, exposed arm and back still feels chilly making her turn to her other side, bringing the sheets up with her. She gets closer to the source of heat that lies next to her and cuddles into it, letting her forehead rest on the warm nook of collarbone. She’s nearly dozing off again when an arm snakes around her waist, pulling her even closer.

And then, a humming sound, coated in bliss and comfiness. A low, husky hum, one that doesn’t belong there, in her bed.

Lexa feels herself be startled awake by the realization that there’s someone sleeping next to her. Someone real. As her eyes adjust to the low light of dawn, she stares at the form that is now also awaking next to her, aroused by Lexa’s movement.

The first thing Lexa places are the bright blue eyes that open slowly, then the wild short blonde hair spread across the pillow and, finally, the beauty mark above pink lips, slightly open.

_ Clarke. _

She looks down at herself and then back at her companion.

Naked. Both of them.

Shame washes over her first, deep red shame, painting her from head to toe, inside out. Disgust follows next, with herself, with what she did, with the world. Pain and guilt arrive last, full force, taking her breath away.

“Morning…” Clarke’s voice is hoarse from sleep. Hoarse, and tired and satisfied.

If Lexa wasn’t in utter shock, she’s sure she would have sobbed.

“Clarke, you have to leave.” Lexa can barely keep the shakiness out of her voice, but she manages to have it come out as an order. Clarke needs to leave. She can’t look at her. She can’t bear to look at her and think about what she did with her, in a moment of weakness.

“Lexa?” Hurt. Confusion. That’s all Lexa can hear in the woman’s voice. And she can’t help but soften at the sound of it.

“I’m sorry.” This time, Lexa allows her voice to come out softer, be it because of Clarke’s hurt or her own.

“Lexa look at me…” Clarke seems to want to reason with her, her hand gently coming to touch her thigh before Lexa brushes it away by moving her leg.

Lexa stares down at her lap, “You have to leave.” It’s a plea this time.

She feels the bed move, Clarke’s weight out from under her sheets. There’s rustling around the room as Clarke collects her clothes and puts them back on in complete silence. Lexa only allows herself to look back at her when she hears the leather jacket being slipped onto Clarke’s back.

The detective is now just standing in front of the bed, having adopted a more defensive posture. While getting dressed she must have been mulling and considering what to say. How to demand an explanation.

“You are aware you wanted this last night, right?” Clarke barks at her.

She had, hadn’t she? She could have stopped Clarke at any moment, stopped herself. She didn’t. Lexa let herself fall into comforting arms and lips in a way she hadn’t since Costia’s passing. She had allowed herself to feel something other than grief, tiredness, and emptiness again. And she felt guilty for it. Did she still deserve to feel any of the things Clarke had offered her last night? No. She couldn’t. She didn’t deserve it. Not when the reason why it was taken from her in the first place was her fault.  _ Because of her. _

“Yes. But last night was last night and now is now.” Her voice is cold once more. She needs to break the closeness she built with Clarke, the weakness she had allowed herself to develop once more.

Clarke’s pissed with her answer, if the way her jaw moves side to side is any indication.

“So, this was what? A fun little game to you?”

“No. But this cannot and will not happen again Clarke. It was a mistake. All of it.”

_ All _ of it. The call, the messages, the flirt talks, the sleeping together.  _ All _ of it.

“Cool.” The girl paces over herself, like a caged animal, looking at the window and then back at the bed, at Lexa, turning half around before turning to Lexa again.

“Please leave Clarke.”

Lexa takes a deep breath, feeling the tears burn in her eyes. She’s tired, ashamed, and sad and she can’t handle telling her again. And, if Clarke was to oppose her and join her back in bed, she wouldn’t fight it.

But Clarke doesn’t. She turns around, broad steps filled with anger, before slamming the door behind her.

And Lexa feels the tears fall, but she doesn’t cry. She throws the blankets that covers her naked form away from her and lets herself fall backwards back on to the mattress. And she lays there, naked, tears falling down her face, feeling empty.

****

As she steps into the cold morning air, Clarke can feel the contrast between the inside and the outside of the mansion. The morning air is crisper here, just at the base of the mountain, than at the center of Arkadia. Clarke closes off her jacket, skin still warm from the mansion, the bed, and the body that she had woken next to.

_ This cannot and will not happen again,  _ Lexa’s words play in her head. Harsh. Colder than the air outside.

_ Please leave Clarke.  _ She had sounded sad then, Clarke is almost certain the girl’s voice nearly broke when she asked her to leave. But she did. And Clarke obliged.

Her bike is still in the same spot where she parked it last night. She grabs her helmet and instinctively moves her arm up to put it on but stops when her phone rings. The sound is ear piercing in the silence of the early morning, and it makes Clarke’s setting hangover worse.

“Griffin.” She doesn’t look at the ID. She can’t think that far ahead when her head is going in circles with the events of last night and this morning.

“There’s been another one.” The voice is hushed, like he’s telling her a secret.

“Another what Murphy, be more fucking specific.” Clarke doesn’t have the time nor the mental capacity to play the guessing game right now.

“Body. They found another body. Different MO but it’s too much of a coincidence.”

Clarke feels her chest fill with air. She did not need this today.

“Want me to go pick you up?”

“Where are you?”

“Station.”

“Hum, no, stay there, I’m not home and it’s faster if I go straight there than my apartment.” Clarke sighs, letting a hand brush through her wild hair.

“Are you okay Griffin?” For him to ask, Clarke knows she must sound fucking awful.

_ Yeah. _

__ It takes Clarke a second to notice she didn’t say that out loud.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Weird night, that’s all.” Clarke reassures.

“Niylah?”

God, Clarke wishes it had been just Niylah. At least then she’s not the one being kicked out after sex. Clarke mentally kicked herself.  _ What a fucking horrible thought to have. _

“Nah. My mom. Drank a bit too much at dinner and spent the night here.” She’s lying through her teeth but it’s not like anyone is gonna go and fact check her.

“Tough luck dude... See you soon.”

Clarke catches herself smiling at Murphy’s lack of comfort offering.

“Be there in 15.”

Murphy’s the one who hangs up. Clarke settles in her bike, the loud noise of the motor spooking a flock of birds from a nearby tree and clearly warning the house’s owner of her departure. Clarke looks back one last time, in her naiveness, hoping to see Lexa at one of the windows or at the door. All she sees are the first rays of sunshine hitting the mansion, giving it that ethereal look Clarke knows it for. She isn’t sure why she feels like this because, isn’t that what she does every time too? In an attempt to lessen the hurt, she brushes it off as her pride being hurt.

Conformed with the outcome of her one-night stand, Clarke drives away from TonDC, apparently, never to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :DDDDDD Do I need to hide??
> 
> (Let me apologize here if that sex scene was... lackluster :P It's my first time actually writing something more smutty and I know it could use some work, but hey, I'm trying my best and therefore, no one should critize me!)
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcomed and encouraged! 
> 
> If you have any more lenghthy question about this fic, you can ask it over on my tumblr https://sapphicmoonandstars.tumblr.com/


	8. Hellfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new case takes place, the school is announced and Clarke and Lexa reflect on their night together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! And Happy -almost- Halloween (if you're reading this on the day it comes out :p)  
> First of all I wanna thank all of you for 200 kudos :D Might not seem like a lot but it sure is too me!  
> Secondly, some of you seemed to be a little pissed at Lexa but a girl's gotta put the angst in where she can fit it!  
> Anyways, this chapter is smaller than the last one and might not be the most entertaining one but I gotta push the plot further xD  
> And although the tags already say it, I'm gonna give anyone who needs it another trigger warning for description of dead bodies and crime scene stuff.
> 
> With all of that being said, Happy readings! :D

“But, did anyone at the scene say it looked like the other murder?”

“Nope.”

“So, you’re just going with your gut here?”

“Yes.”

“They’ve barely looked at the body, Murphy. Don’t you think your assumptions are a bit premature?”

“Nope.”

_Great_. Clarke sighs. She had barely been able to step into the precinct and grab a cup of gross coffee before Murphy was manhandling her to the car. He was quick to fill her in on the details he was passed on by Octavia and Raven who are already at the scene, although, unable to get to the body yet as the small old barn seems to have been burned to the ground during the early hours of the morning, the woods surrounding it are lucky that the cold wet weather and quickness of the fire department were able to save it before it could burn down.

Clarke stares up at the sky where white smoke has already replaced the dark one that could be seen from the moment the detectives entered the more rural roads of Arkadia. Her head is already starting to pound from the moonshine, but she avoids letting her mind go there. Right now, she needs to focus on the case, not on a rich girl who can’t make up her mind. The thought seems to unnerve her hungover as everything spins for a few seconds and Clarke’s forced to shut her eyes to make it stop.

“Damn, what conversation did your mom bring up last night that made you get that hammered?” Murphy’s tone is full of amusement at his partner’s misery, “Was it the you not wanting kids’ discussion again? ‘Cause I know that one gets you riled up!”

Clarke rolls her eyes, unamused with the mocking.

“Just fucking shut up and drive John!”

“Uh, first name, it was definitely the kid talk.”

Clarke sighs again, frustrated, letting her head hit the headrest of her seat, eyes closed once more. The insistent pounding of her head is growing worse, but at least it’s a distraction from the distant one in her heart.

The crime scene is already taped off, the familiar sounds of the forensic team working with the added noise of the fire department’s somehow helps Clarke’s focus shift completely to the case at hand. This is her job. This she can control. Well, most of the time.

As an officer brings the tape up so her and Murphy can pass, Clarke hears voices sounding slightly aggravated. As they approach the now barely smoking barn, Raven and Octavia’s forms appear, both trying to pick up a fight with a firefighter twice their size.

“I’m sorry detectives, I can’t let you in yet, the smoke inside needs to clear out.”

“We could be losing evidence.” Octavia remarks, cheeks already red.

“As I’ve said previously, I would prefer that to both of you passing out.”

“We are trying to do our jobs here!” Comes Raven’s defense.

“So am I, detectives!” The firefighter sighs, in a manner Clarke’s very familiar with.

“Leave the man alone, both of you.” And, in spite of her headache, Clarke smiles as the firefighter’s head turns towards her.

“Clarke!”

“Hey Wells!”

Clarke speeds her step as the taller man opens his arms to hug her. And for the quick seconds she’s in his arms, she forgets all about her wounded pride from this morning.

Until he reminds her of it.

“Is everything okay Clarke? You look like you barely slept.”

He means well. He always does. As children, he had always been protective of her, chasing around anyone who decided to pick a fight with her and, at one point, Clarke could have sworn she would marry this man. And then, when they were thirteen, she tried to kiss him and he rejected her, admitting to her, in a very distressed voice, that she was like a little sister to him and that he found the thought of kissing her borderline gross. Wells Jaha was her first crush and her first heartbreak. But through it all, he never stopped being her best friend.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Bad night, that’s all.”

“Another fight with Abby?” Well’s concerned voice asks.

Clarke strongly dislikes how everyone seems to know about her mommy issues. One of the many disadvantages of the small town. She itches to tell someone about last night and this morning, to let the anger that’s silently building up in her stomach out into the world. But her gut seems to want her to keep it out of the mouths of the world for now. So, run with her lie she does.

“Something like that.” She lets her finger rub her left eye lazily, trying to shake the remaining of her memories away, “How’s things with your dad?”

Wells' face contorts into a grimace as he shrugs his shoulders and Clarke is quick to offer him a sympathetic smile. Family issues seem to be a very common denominator around these parts.

“Aren’t we a pair!” She says in a low voice, meant only for him to hear..

With a smile stolen from Wells, Clarke already feels better and decides to proceed with her work, “So, what exactly do we have here?”

“I already told you.” Murphy answers promptly, sounding offended.

“Without the preliminary theories.” She snarks back, turning to the two women next to her.

“Based on what we can access,” Octavia begins, exasperated, voice directed at Wells who simply sighs, before turning back to Clarke.

“The barn was reported as being on fire around five a.m. by the guy on the neighboring farm, big guys over there put it out and found a body inside.” Octavia points to a man with a 5 o’clock shadow, dressed in flannel, dirty jeans and an old hat who keeps looking around and chatting up anyone who approaches him.

In the pause Octavia makes, Wells tries to speak up. “No-“

“No screams or begs for help meaning they should’ve probably been dead or out of it once the fire department got here,” Octavia interrupts, “I’m the one giving the briefing, Lieutenant.”

Wells throws his hands up, defeated. In return Clarke gives him an apologetic look.

“Do you think we could go in already? Jackson is getting a bit angsty over there.” Clarke asks looking at the doctor as he passes around next to the empty body bag.

Wells looks at the four detectives one by one before finally giving in.

“Just put some masks on please.” He advises as he gestures for the coroner to move in.

As they walk inside the burned down barn, now reduced to dark, ashy wood falling apart on the top, the early morning sun coming in through holes the fallen pieces of the roof left behind, Clarke can feel her lungs and throat sting slightly with the smoke that still hangs in the air, the mask trying it’s hardest to prevent her from breathing it in. There’s nothing of much interest inside, completely burned away, and a few pieces of equally burned wood objects. Next to a big pole of wood who seems to have survived the fire unharmed, for the most part, sits the victim, body completely burned. No face, no fingerprints. From afar, Clarke could have confused it for a generally human shaped coal pile. Jackson is quick to kneel beside the body, getting to work. Raven and Octavia look around the room, although Clarke is sure there can’t be much evidence left that hasn’t been burned to a crisp.

“It’s not looking pretty, detective…” Jackson sighs, looking up at Clarke.

Clarke can only nod, agreeing. No screaming, no cry for help and the position of the body doesn’t show any signs of an attempted escape from the hellfire the barn must have been involved in just a few hours prior. The detective takes note of such in her notepad.

“Once I have the autopsy done I can confirm whether the victim was actually dead or just unconscious during the fire but, as it stands, it does look like foul-play.”

Murphy looks at her with a knowing look and Clarke loathes having to give his seemingly wild theories reason.

“Told you.”

Clarke can’t help but roll her eyes, “There can still be a million different answers to this that doesn’t involve a connection to the last case”

“I doubt it.” Murphy replies, voice full of confidence. 

Rolling her eyes again, Clarke kneels down next to the body, hoping her trained eye catches something they missed at first glance. She lets her eyes take their time in each part of the burned body, the mask helping her nose ignore the smell of charred skin and meat, a smell less nauseating than that of a decomposing body but no less macabre. The snap of a weakened piece of wood by Octavia’s foot makes the detective jerk her head quickly towards the sound on instinct, a gesture her now much quieter headache doesn’t appreciate. Clarke curses the moonshine for it but is glad Lexa took it away from her before she finished it.

_Lexa._

The blurry vision of the heiress laying naked in her luxurious bed naked rushes back into Clarke’s mind and she has to close her eyes forcefully to erase it from the front of her mind. _Get over it,_ Clarke instructs herself. It happened, it was good, but it was over now. It was a mistake. _It was a mistake. All of it._ Lexa’s words rush back to her. Was it? Were their messages a mistake? The silly, flirty back and forth, talking about nothing in particular, were those that much of a mistake as them sleeping together while in a drunken haze? Did Lexa regret it every time she clicked send or did the sudden realization that she wanted nothing to do with Clarke come when she woke up next to her? Did-

Clarke’s mind hits the breaks as she sees something in what used to this person’s pocket. It’s small, nearly burned, but the corner is still intact. Clarke briskly grabs a tweezer from Jackson’s bag, gesturing for one of the forensic experts for an evidence bag. She’s careful with it, her left hand steadily pulling the tweezers towards her. A few burned pieces fall inside the evidence bag she positions underneath it and Clarke let’s the unburned piece of paper fall inside it as well. Once it’s safe inside the closed bag, Clarke lifts it, trying to make anything of it. On the other side of the body Murphy joins her, eyes squinting.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know…” Clarke answers, absently minded, eyes squinted as well. She turns it more to the sun. It's paper, no doubt about that. But that alone wasn’t gonna help them a lot. No, what’s gonna help them is the twirly circle visible just a little off the corner of the bluish paper, a watermark of sorts. It’s a long shot, hell it’s a shot from here to the west coast but a shot in the right direction at the very least.

“It might lead us somewhere after forensics takes a look at it.” She finally concludes, dropping her arm. As she does, her stomach crawls embarrassingly loud. Right, she has yet to put anything in her stomach that wasn’t coffee.

“Are you okay there Griffin?” Murphy asks mockingly.

Clarke lips press against each other as she tries not to laugh. Honestly, today might as well be the day where her stomach embarrasses her, why not add insult to injury?

“Was it the vague smell of barbecue that got you? Because it certainly got me!” Octavia whispers as she gets close to Clarke.

Clarke can’t help the baffled look that sets on her face, “What the fuck Octavia?!”

In response, Octavia throws her hands slightly in the air, “Sorry, I’m hungry and, clearly, so are you!”

Clarke stares at the old watch she keeps on her left wrist at all time, the leather band weathered by time, “It’s nearly eleven thirty, let’s wrap it up here and go for lunch.”

Octavia opens her mouth and Clarke can already predict what she’s going to say.

“Absolutely no barbeque.” She shuts the younger detective down before she can even make a sound.

Octavia’s eyelids lower in an annoyed expression, “Fine, whatever!”

As Octavia moves away from her, Clarke stares at what’s left of the burnt paper once more before looking back at the body now being carefully lifted into the body bag by Jackson and a few others from the forensic team. In her mind there is no doubt this is a homicide, but for everyone’s sanity, including her own, she sure hopes it’s not connected to the unidentified body they found a couple months back. The last thing this town needs right now is some kind of serial killer going around.

**

It’s barely noon when the four detectives enter the Ark Diner. Octavia and Murphy are excitedly discussing the last tv show they both binge-watched as Raven asks a question here and there about it. Clarke on the other hand, is trying her best to seem present but her wandering mind isn’t cooperating. Her initial anger and disappointment have now been replaced with confusion over every single interaction she had with Lexa.

The girl had been clear from the start that she didn’t want anything more than whatever kind of friendship was developing between them and Clarke had been happy to oblige. She tried her very best to avoid making the heiress uncomfortable, even in the face of her growing attraction for her. Of course, she had the odd slip up when she couldn’t really see where the line she shouldn’t cross was but Lexa never seemed to hold that against her. Last night had been made of taking a step forward and then ten steps back every time she opened her mouth. Lexa was still hard to read, perfectly content with the flirting nature of the conversation only to close back up when the wrong thing was said. And Clarke would have been fine with it, she would have completely understood if Lexa had woken up naked next to her and decided that this wasn’t what she wanted, if she had told Clarke that she would prefer for them to not have this kind of relationship now. She would have gotten it. She would. Maybe be a bit disappointed but not hurt. Or whatever it is that she feels right now.

“He’s hot, right Clarke?”

Clarke has to blink away her thoughts before realizing she was not catching anything of the conversation. Looking ahead she can see Octavia is pointing at her phone where the picture of a young actor is displayed. It takes her a second to understand what she’s asking.

“Yeah, sure. Not my type, but yes.” It’s the most coherent Clarke can string together.

Murphy and Octavia seem to be so wrapped in their discussion that Clarke’s absent mindedness doesn’t register with them. But, of course, it very much registers with Raven.

“Wanna talk about it?” Her voice is gentle as she squeezes Clarke’s tight in a comforting manner. And somehow, Clarke knows that Raven isn’t talking about her fake excuse of a fight with her mom. She’s both glad and extremely annoyed by her friend’s ability to see right through her bullshit.

And yet, Clarke’s gut keeps telling her to keep this to herself, “Maybe later. I would honestly prefer if I was distracted from it right now.”

And as if on cue, Mayor Thelonious Jaha amplified voice comes from across the street, at the Town’s Square, just in front of the townhouse building. The detectives look between themselves, puzzled. Elections are still a full two years away. In the past two terms as Mayor, the man has never once had a town meeting that wasn’t about his election.

Curious, the detectives are quick to wrap their lunch, the sad salads the majority ordered - the thought of meat a bit too gruesome for them after the finds of the morning - left nearly untouched. As they step into the chilly air mixed with the bright sun, they slowly approach the crowd that had formed around the platform where Mayor Jaha speaks from.

The speech is being dragged on and Clarke barely registers half of it. His use of pretentious wording always annoyed her and made her quickly lose interest in whatever it was he was talking about. She hears Murphy grunt beside her, something about not wanting to listen to fancy politics talk and, with quick agreement from the other women, they start turning to leave. They are nearly out of the crowded area that has now formed behind them when Raven stops them and motions for them to listen to the mayor’s words.

“I’m also pleased to announce the start of the construction of the new and improved Arkadia Elementary. We begin the construction of a school modernized for the present day after years of having to send our children to different towns to attend classes. The new building and all its assets are all generously founded by Mrs. Alexandria Woods-” Jaha motions his hand behind him, where Alexandria stands and she takes a step forward on cue, “head of the Trikru company and the Trikru Coalition Charity and new resident of the historical TonDC mansion, here in Arkadia. Both her and I will be working closely with the building team to assure the best plan for our children’s future. May this be the push Arkadia needs to enter the map once more!”

Around them the crowd claps, whispered agreements with the new school are louder, the disagreeing ones more hushed, mainly shown by the lack of clapping hands of a few. Clarke doesn’t really care about all of that right now.

She looks as if nothing happened that morning. There’s a diplomatic smile on her face that doesn’t reach her eyes but there’s nothing in her perfectly painted face that would suggest that she had woken up next to Clarke that morning and yelled at her to get out of her house and her life. Her stance is tense, back straight as her hands clasp behind it. She wears a cream turtleneck and Clarke can’t help the small pride that comes over her as she remembers the hickeys she left on the slender neck and how Lexa is most likely trying to hide them. She watches as the green, eyeshadow painted eyes move through the crowd, attentively trying to read the opinion of the majority. Clarke doesn’t move her stare from the heiress’ face. As their eyes lock, Lexa seems to lose her composure for a second, eyes wide, her breath caught in her chest. Clarke refuses to break eye contact, very aware of the harshness on her face, and Lexa quickly looks away from the crowd fully, focusing instead on Mayor Jaha who is now finishing his speech with another promise of running for the next election and keep improving the town.

As another round of applause emerges and the people of Arkadia move along with their days, Lexa stares at the crowd once more, searching for her face again. She’s gone, along with her coworkers. Disappointment washes over her and she’s not particularly sure why. She had been the one to kick Clarke out and tell her everything between them up until that moment had been a mistake, an error of judgement.

And yet, during the course of the next few days, Lexa finds herself missing the girl’s texts. During the meeting with the town council the day after the announcement of the school. While on another boring call with Titus. As she waits for Anya to come back with takeout from another local restaurant she mysteriously stumbled upon. The fix would be easy, really. Pick up the phone, apologize, _explain_.

But what about the guilt?

Even in a perfect world where Lexa’s livelihood wasn’t one full of deception, powerful enemies and even more powerful allies, where she could love again freely without the fear of history repeating itself, how could she escape the guilt? The feeling of betraying her late wife? Even if they forgot all about last night, Lexa doesn’t think she’s capable of denying the growing attraction, the growing feelings she has for Clarke, be it simply lust or a more profound affection.

Lexa sighs, letting her head fall on her hands, elbows resting on her desk. It’s another late night. Or early morning, she realizes, as the low chirping of the birds outside her window becomes clearer. She’s ending her week more exhausted than she started, on every level. Next to her, her personal phone bright light shines into the dark room, unlocked. Clarke’s number stares at her. She thought about clicking the call button and let it ring, just for a few seconds. Clarke doesn’t have her personal number, they never really got around to that. Lexa could simply call, an unknown number in the early hours of the morning as Clarke most likely sleeps. A wrong number she would probably assume. 

_How ironic_ , Lexa thinks to herself.

**

She stares at the back of dirty blonde hair, spread all around her pillow. It’s a weird sight if Clarke’s completely honest. She’s more used to seeing Niylah walk away in the middle of the night than seeing her face in the dim light of the morning. But she’s here, deep asleep, a slight snore that Clarke can’t deny it’s endearing, her bare back flushed against her front as Clarke’s arm goes around her waist.

The detective is still not sure what possessed her to tell Niylah to spend the night. Maybe now that she knew how much it sucked being kicked out of the bed after sex by someone you care about, she was slightly more aware of her own contribution to it. So, as Niylah sat in bed last night to get dressed, Clarke had touched her waist, calling for her attention.

“You- you can stay tonight. If you want.” Her voice had barely raised above a whisper. It was a weird offer from her and Clarke had spent the minutes both of their breaths had needed to come back to a steady rhythm going back and forward between asking her to stay or not.

Without surprise, Niylah had smiled and gotten back in bed with her. She didn’t ask why. Clarke didn’t think of telling her either. She had simply cuddled up to her as Niylah let her face snuggle in the nook of her neck, sighing happily. She knew this didn’t mean anything but seemed content with pretending and Clarke had let her, despite the fact that it felt odd having Niylah here, pretending they were more than they actually were when just a few days ago, Lexa was the one curled up to her, letting Clarke pretend that they were something more than she wanted them to be.

Anger for the heiress overpowers her once again, waking her up completely. She retrieves her arm from around the other woman’s wait, letting them wrap around her bent legs as she sits down instead.

The movement wakes up her companion.

“Hmmm, morning!” Niylah greets excitedly, stretching her arms and back.

“Morning,” Clarke greets back with a little less enthusiasm “Slept well?”

“Very!” The girl responds, smiling. She scoots herself to where Clarke sits, planting a kiss on her cheek before letting her chin rest on a pale shoulder.

In return Clarke offers a closed smile. Somehow it hurts a bit seeing Niylah this happy just by waking up next to her. Clarke wonders why her heart refuses to love Niylah. She’s a sweet girl, reliable, loving, always up to a little bit of drinking. And Clarke does feel a lot for her. Friendship, closeness, even genuine care. But not love, nor passion nor the kind of affection Niylah longs from her. But maybe she could. Maybe she just needed to give it a chance.

For a while Clarke thought her capability of feeling those things was gone, that Finn had taken all those capabilities from her and down the grave with him. But now, now she knew that wasn’t true. Lexa had made her feel at least a piece of that. She wasn’t completely broken yet. Maybe she just needed to try again.

“Wanna go for breakfast?” Clarke asks, suddenly, breaking the silence, “My treat!”

Niylah seemingly lights up with the proposal. “Sure! I need a shower first though…” And as if for effect, she turns her head to her armpit.

Clarke chuckles at this. “Go ahead, I’ll take the sheets out of the bed while you shower.” She adds another smile, one she knows doesn’t reach her eyes, not fully.

The girl doesn’t seem to notice, as she leans in to give Clarke another kiss, this time aiming for the corner of her lip, just below her beauty mark, before getting herself out of bed and out of the bedroom in route to the bathroom.

Clarke stares at the opened door, letting the distant sound of the water hitting the tiled floor of her shower drown her feelings of unease over giving Niylah this hint of hope. But Clarke would never know if this could be something if she didn’t try. And trying couldn’t hurt, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wells is here!!  
> Hope you enjoyed it :D  
> As always, I would love to hear your feedback on it and kudos are always appreciated!  
> And while you're here (and I know some of you might come from there too) be sure to check [False Promises (and how to keep them)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25065526/chapters/60712054)  
> for a Sci-Fi Clexa Adventure!  
> See you in the next one :)!


	9. Coin Toss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke goes on a "date" with Niylah. Lexa tosses a coin.

The morning air is, as always, cold on Clarke’s warm face as she steps out of her apartment with Niylah in tow, but the sun is shining and surprisingly succeeding at warming the day. Next to her, Niylah is beaming as the warm sun shines on her and Clarke is almost ashamed to admit that she can’t particularly remember the last time she saw her outside in the daylight instead of the darkness of her bedroom.

“So, where are we going, exactly?” Niylah asks as they walk down the stairs of Clarke’s apartment complex.

Clarke hadn’t thought that far ahead to be honest.

“Sky Beans maybe?” Clarke questions, hand rising to rest at the back of her neck.

Niylah simply smiles at her and nods, putting on the spare helmet Clarke handed her before they left the apartment, seeming extremely eager to go.

Clarke’s starting to second guess her decision of asking Niylah out for breakfast. Date? Breakfast date? Whatever this was. It felt wrong in a way, like she’s crossing some sort of boundary she shouldn’t have, and not the good kind, not the kind that feels exciting to push slowly and expectantly, taking small steps until the line was finally crossed, no. It felt like just wanting to take a peak over the edge, leaning over the railing, just for it to break and making her tumble over into an unknown abyss. 

“Clarke?”

“Hm?”

“God, you’re slow in the morning.”

Niylah’s teasing shakes Clarke out of her headspace. For a split second she considers apologizing and telling her this isn’t a good idea, that it might just end up with Niylah hurt. Because whatever happens in between Clarke’s sheets is known to have no meaning at all, but here, in the daylight, there’s hope for something more. And despite what Clarke’s early dawn thoughts told her she’s still very afraid she’s not yet capable of loving someone. This particular someone.

“Sorry, I’m still a bit sleepy.” Clarke apologizes, adding a chuckle in to ease the mood.

As she settles on her bike, the other woman sits behind her, arms coming to rest high on her waist, hands dancing dangerously close to Clarke’s chest. The gesture ends up stealing a smirk from Clarke

“Niylah…” Clarke warns, turning on the motor.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t even notice!” The other woman cheekily says before letting her arms fall lowers on Clarke’s torso.

As they fall to their usually flirty banter – before she ends up the night telling her to leave – Clarke feel herself relax a bit more, pulling away from her driveway.

**

Sky Beans is a fairly new business in Arkadia and the only one that didn’t go bankrupt after only a few months of business. Although it created some competition with the Ark Diner siting just at the end of the street, for the preferred morning cup of coffee, it seems to be doing well. And while the line to the register is always more or less full of people, the wooden tables with mismatched chairs are all nearly empty.

As they walk in Clarke urges Niylah to go sit at the table as she orders for the both of them. The line moves slowly as the nervous teenage boy at the register seems to struggle with keeping up with all the ingredients in the more complicated orders and takes time in between customers to ask for help to a very annoyed looking barista that Clarke recognizes as Josephine, a graduate from Polis university who somehow decided to come back to their small town instead of living her dream life in Polis. Clarke doesn’t mind the line though; it gives her a little bit of space before she goes back and sits with Niylah to attempt a normal conversation. And it’s then that Clarke realizes she feels awkward. She’s been with Niylah so many times and yet she doesn’t know much about her. Other than her being best friends with Octavia, working at the post office inside the townhall and not being originally from Arkadia, there isn’t much more to Clarke’s knowledge of the girl. Well, she guesses that’s one place to start the conversation.

She sets their coffees on the table with a quiet ‘here you go’ followed by an equally quiet ‘thank you’ from Niylah. Silence follows as they take their first sips of the hot liquid.

“This place is nice.” Niylah tries, looking around the coffee shop.

“It certainly has charm to it.” Clarke responds.

“They’ve been here longer than I expected them to.”

Clarke nods, “Yeah, it’s shocking they survived here this long. Thank God for the caffeine addicts of Arkadia, right?”

Niylah nods, unenthusiastically, her eyebrows raising in a fake attempt at excitement before they fall quiet once more. Clarke feels herself internally cringe. Goodness, is she really this uncapable of talking to the woman she has been fucking for the past two years?

“Hm, so… How’s your dad?” Clarke tries. Last time Niylah mentioned him he had just been released from the hospital after a minor surgery.

“He’s good, his leg is healing, thankfully. He’s a bit pissed that the injury forced him into early retirement though.” The woman comments, chuckling.

“He deserves the early retirement!” Clarke barely knew the man personally, but he had been her parents’ mailman for as long as she can remember and had always waved at her as Clarke watched him through the window as a kid. If only he had known where her and his daughter would end up, maybe he wouldn’t have been so friendly.

“Yeah, he hasn’t really had a break ever since I came to live with him when I was a kid.”

“Oh yeah, you’re not from Arkadia originally, right?”

Niylah nods, “Nope. I’m technically a Polis girl!” She exclaims.

“Polis? Really? Would never, in a million years, take you for a city girl.”

Niylah chuckles at her statement, “Well, I am! And it seems I’m not the only Polis-born to find charm in Arkadia.” She half whispers, taking a sip of her coffee.

Clarke raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

“You know the Alexandria woman, the one who moved into TonDC?”

Clarke takes a second to make sure her breathing doesn’t come out too heavy. She knows of the Alexandria girl alright.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of her here and there.” She lies.

“She’s from Polis. Well, more like, she  _ is _ Polis. Her family owns like, half of the city.”

This somehow awakes Clarke’s curiosity even when the last thing she wants is to learn more about Lexa. In fact, she wishes she could unlearn everything she learned about the woman. Unfortunately for her, her curiosity must have been visible on her face as Niylah continues to talk after taking another sip of her coffee.

“I honestly find it weird that she’s here. I think her family never lived outside of Polis; they even have a street named after them.”

Clarke nods, taking a minute in her mind to separate what’s public knowledge about Lexa and what’s just her own private knowledge before speaking.

“Isn’t she here to help with the school?”

“Yeah, but did she really need to be here for that?” Niylah asks, rhetorically, “Some people think she’s here to completely change Arkadia. Like, radically change it. Firms, skyscrapers. A whole new city from an unknown small town, just like it happened over there.”

The detective nods, absent minded. Lexa wouldn’t. Would she? If Clarke entertained that logic, starting with the elementary school made sense. Start with gaining points with the community so it’s easier to buy their lands and business to build upon. But why? Lexa seemed so eager to leave Arkadia, it just didn’t make sense for her to want to own most of it. She even seemed to pounder the history of TonDC and considered Clarke’s suggestion of running it as a historical site to help the town. Clarke let’s out an innerved exhale at the thought of all that conversation with the heiress being just a way for her to learn more about the town and plan for its rebuilding into an extension of Polis.

“Clarke, calm down,” She feels Niylah’s hand on her own as it rests on the table, “It’s just a rumor, you hear a dozen of them a day at the post office, I know how much you love this town, I didn’t mean for it to make you angry.”

Clarke looks at Niylah slightly confused before she catches her reflection on the tinted window and realizes how her nostrils are flared up and her face has turned a light shade of pink, her lips pursed as she bites the inside of her lower lip.

Clarke shakes her head, still staring at her reflection, “Oh sorry, it’s not that, it’s just…”

She lets the sentence go unfinished as she sees a head of blonde hair and tanned skin pass through the window and inside the coffee shop, announcing its presence with the ring of the bell above the door.

“What?” Niylah questions, turning her head around to follow Clarke’s eyes. As she catches who the detective is staring at she turns back around.

“Who’s that?”

Clarke pretends not to flinch at the hint of jealousy in Niylah’s voice as she shifts her eyes back to her and shrugs.

“She was there the day they announced the school’s construction. I’ve never seen her around before so I’m assuming she’s from Polis too.”

If Niylah notices her fumbling over her words, she doesn’t mention it. Instead she discreetly tries to look at the woman once more.

“She’s pretty. Killer cheekbones.” She comments and Clarke slowly nods.

Anya seems to feel eyes on her as she stands in line, her eyes dancing around the coffee shop. Clarke lowers her head and Niylah copies her, although less discreetly. She feels the lawyer’s eyes on her and she dares to look back. The woman’s gaze doesn’t leave her, seemingly studying her and her company before turning back to her phone unceremoniously. Clarke wonders if Lexa told her about them. They were at the very least friendly; she knew that much. But if Lexa was as good at communicating with Anya as she had been with her, she doubts the lawyer knows anything at all.

The line seems to be moving quicker and it only a couple of minutes before Anya is at the register and a few feet away from Clarke and Niylah’s table. She orders two drinks and, under the assumption the second one is for Lexa, Clarke finds herself trying to listen to it, for reasons beyond her understanding. She frowns her brows as she hears what seems to be a nearly perfect description of Raven’s over complicated drink.

In front of her Niylah starts to speak but is interrupted by Clarke’s vibrating phone.

**Murphy (8:56 a.m.):**

_ Grab me some coffee if you can _

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna be late!” Clarke exclaims as she gets up, “Hm, I need to get Murphy’s coffee, do you want me to drop you off at work?”

Niylah shakes her head, “Nah, I’ll be fine, it’s only a five-minute walk from here and the day is warm!”

Clarke smiles at her, “You sure? It’s not much trouble.”

Niylah smiles back, already holding her cup, “I’m sure, don’t worry. This was nice Clarke. I hope we’ll be able to do it again.” She says, hand gently squeezing Clarke’s.

Clarke doesn’t know what possesses her to step forward and kiss the corner of Niylah’s lips before stepping behind the only person in line, “Me too.”

**

The police station is still rather empty once Clarke finally gets there at ten past nine. As she reaches the bullpen she sees that Murphy is the only one already at his desk, making her only the third latest person today. Or, on a positive thinking, the second one on time.

“Where’s everyone?” Clarke questions and hands Murphy his coffee.

“I don’t fucking know, I’m not their dad.” The answer is more sarcastic than usually, driven by the lack of coffee.

Clarke lets her bag fall off her shoulder and into the floor next to her chair, “Jesus, someone woke up on the wrong side of bed.” She accuses, before sitting down and turning her computer on for the day.

“Emori kept me up all night because it was her go day or whatever.”

Clarke lifts her eyebrow in confusion, “Go day?”

Murphy waves his hand dismissively, “Yeah, fertile day or some shit, I don’t know, it’s the day you gals have that makes it easy to make a baby.”

Clarke stops mid password typing and turns around in her chair, so hard it nearly does a full spin.

“Baby?! You guys are trying for a b- You guys are trying for a baby?! Do you even want kids? Dude are capable of sharing anything with your team?” She exclaims, barely capable of putting a sentence together.

Sitting in his chair, coffee cup on his lips, Murphy shrugs, telling Clarke all she needs to know.

“Have you talked to her about that?”

Murphy shrugs again and Clarke sighs, giving him a look that has before been described as ‘mom friend eyes’.

“I know, I know…” He responds to her look before exhaling deeply, “Being an adult fucking sucks.”

Clarke chuckles at this, “Tell me about it.”

Her eyes shift to Octavia who is walking towards the bullpen and before she can manage a good morning, the younger girl goes straight to Clarke’s desk instead of her own without a single word, just a death stare.

It takes Clarke a second to realize why.

“It was just breakfast.” Clarke clarifies the unspoken assumption.

“You know very well that’s not what she thinks.”

“I’m not trying to hurt her. I promise.”

“You better not Griffin.” The girl threatens, “And you better fucking know what you’re doing.” She adds before moving back to her desk.

Murphy’s eyes follow Octavia before turning to Clarke.

“Did I miss something?” And as he speaks Clarke shakes her head, dismissing his question.

She opens her mouth to reassure him everything is fine, but it’s interrupted by a gleeful Raven walking in. A very, very gleeful Raven.

“Good morning my beautiful people.” She greets, cheerfully, even adding a quick friendly kiss on top of Clarke’s blonde hair and a gentle tussle of Murphy hair, one that is swatted by the still grumpy detective.

“Aren’t you cheery!” Octavia comments, any hint of her displeasure already gone.

“I had a good night of sleep, I have my favorite coffee warm in my hand and I’m ready for another full day of paperwork with my favorite people in the world so, what’s not to like?”

At the mention of her coffee Clarke can’t help but wonder about Anya’s order that was so similar to Raven’s own and how Raven barely ever went to get coffee in the morning unless someone bought it for her, surrendering herself to the disgusting mix of tepid water and cheap coffee that the break room offered when not. But, despite her sudden suspicion. Clarke decides not to spoil her friend’s good mood with questions.

Half the day is spent in silence as they review paperwork and submit it between exaggerated sighs of boredom and back and forth teasing and, even if Octavia seems to refuse to exchange more than a few sentences with her, it’s enjoyable. That is until a young officer walks towards them with a man following nervously behind and speaks directly to Clarke.

“Detective Griffin, this man is here to speak with you, he says it’s about the recent death in the old barn.” The young man explains and points to the man holding a worn-out green hat between his hand and fidgeting with it.

“Thank you, we’ll take it from here.” Clarke says, dismissing the officer who simply nods and walks away.

She motions for the man to approach her desk as she gets up, extending her hand for him to shake.

“Hello sir, what can I do for you?” Clarke asks, her professional voice taking a second to find the right pitch.

“I was the one who called in the fire,” the man starts, and Clarke is quick to place his face, pacing around the crime scene.

The detective points to the chair right next to her desk but the man declines the offer with a raised hand. Clarke’s just about to take her sit when the next sentence uttered by the man stops her on her tracks.

“I was a bit confused at the time with all the fire people and you folks, but I believe I might know who burned the barn and killed whoever was inside.”

**

“That was absolutely exhausting!”

Lexa scoffs as Anya slides down the chair she placed next to Lexa’s.

“You did nothing, you barely uttered a single word during the meeting.” Lexa comments as she closes her laptop. She must admit that the charity meetings are tedious as they always revolved around numbers and money and of mostly the ones involved patting each other on back for giving the bare minimum to whoever the charity decided to sponsor that year. Unfortunately for Anya, her presence was needed, not as a lawyer but as the representative of the Green family.

“Hearing you talk always tires me down.” Anya teases but Lexa isn’t particularly amused by it, simply rolling her eyes at her, “Jesus, lighten up a bit! What’s with you lately? Your mood has been sourer than usual.”

“None of your concern.” Lexa answers crudely as she tidies up her desk from the scattered papers and scribble notes pertaining to the meeting before getting up.

“Have I ever told you that you make being your friend a really tiresome task?” Anya whines, getting up as well but not without a grunt and a pop of her back.

“Fine, then we’re not friends anymore. Problem solved.”

Anya purses her lips in light amusement.

“Real grown up response there, Woods.”

Lexa doesn’t respond and they both fall into a silent moment as the heiress stares, arms crossed, outside the window where the sunshine warms an otherwise cold day. Behind her she hears Anya moving papers around, probably trying to find which paper holds the important information and which only consists of the doodles her pen kept drawing when the meeting got particularly boring for her. After that, Lexa feels her join her by the window, her faint reflection on the glass becoming clearer as she approaches it.

“So, what I’m taking is that you’re not gonna tell me.”

Lexa’s face doesn’t move from the windows glass where she follows the downwards path of the few leaves that had managed to hang out from the bare trees until now, “No, I will not.”

“Is it work related?” Anya pushes, slowly.

“No. Personal life.” She confesses before mentally berating herself for doing so.

Anya’s quick to turn to face her. “You have a personal life?” She exclaims, faking shock.

Lexa rolls her eyes once more, uncrossing her arms and going back to her desk.

“You’re such a dick sometimes.”

“I know.” Anya replies, a cheeky smile on her face, “But you went from smiling every time you looked at your phone to… mopey, all the damn time.”

“I’m not mopey.” Lexa nearly yells, insulted.

“And irritable… Did you and your girlfriend break up?” Anya asks, nonchalantly.

Lexa gags on air.

“Anya, I do not-”

“Girlfriend, fuckbuddy, friend… Whatever they were. They did you good.” Anya’s tone softens, the amusement quickly replaced with gentle worry.

“How did you know?” The answer is rather obvious really, but Lexa wants to pretend she hadn’t been smiling at the phone like a teenage girl every time Clarke texted.

“Call it a hunch, with all the smiling at the phone. Unless Titus suddenly developed a sense of humor, I doubt it was at his texts that had you all smiley.”

Lexa sighs. She had hoped Anya would have let those moments she caught her grinning at the phone screen pass and not mention them. Not like it matters much now.

“Well, it no longer matters really. Whatever it was, is over now.” The last sentence saddens her in a way she had yet to feel. As if by saying it out loud, she was officiating its end.

“Why?”

Lexa looks up at Anya. The woman is staring her down, a concerned harshness to her glare.

“You know why.” Lexa intends for it to come out strong and final. Instead, it’s a whispered response. And, to Lexa’s horror, she feels resentment as she says it. Directed at her life for throwing Clarke at her; directed at herself for being unable to let go of the woman she loved and who is now long gone.

Anya seems to be expecting the answer, so much so that the tone of Lexa’s words fly past her. Instead, she lets out a sigh of defeat.

“One day you’re gonna have to start living your life for yourself instead of living it for the ghosts of your past. And you better start doing it soon because you are starting to piss me off, Woods.” Her words hold meaning but Anya says them in a light tone, an empty threat of someone who does not wish to fight nor upset Lexa.

And for the first time in a while, Lexa decides to simply take the words in instead of taking them to heart and feeling defensive.

“Anyways… I gotta go, don’t expect me until the morning.”

“Where are you going  _ again _ ?”

Anya turns around and smirks, “Maybe I have a girlfriend.”

Lexa laughs, exaggeratedly, but cuts it when Anya doesn’t join in.

“Wait really?” The heiress asks in an incredulous tone, mouth slightly agape.

The other woman simply shrugs, “Why should I tell you? We’re not friends anymore.” She says, calmly, smirk turning into a forced innocent smile.

Lexa rolls her eyes for the millionth time that evening before taking a sit at her desk, ready to go back to work. “You’re such a fucking dick.”

At this, Anya chuckles, full of amusement, before throwing her blazer over her shoulder and opening the ornamented wooden door.

“Anya!” Lexa calls after the woman as steps foot outside the door frame. Anya turns around to face her, a questioning look on her face, “Thank you.”

The lawyer offers her a smile, genuine this time, before leaving her alone with her thoughts. Yet Lexa’s thoughts seem restless as she’s unable to focus on a specific one. She blames the lack of sleep and too much coffee for it. The ones in the back of her head remind her of her duties, of her father’s teachings, of her own impositions regarding relationships after Costia. But the ones that take front stage, the louder ones, the ones she can make out, echo Anya’s words. Had she ever? Had she at any point of her life lived it for herself and herself only? She knows the answer, but she dislikes it. Maybe she had moments where she let herself be selfish and think only of herself and her needs but those were rare and far in between. Yet, they never felt more freeing.

Lexa stares at the phone resting right next to her. She doesn’t believe in luck. A flip of a coin was just probability. Simple math. Never luck. Even so, a toss of a coin is unpredictable, too many variables but only two outcomes, both with the same opportunity to happen. Lexa doesn’t enjoy the gambling. She was raised with chess, always two moves ahead, never leaving her future in the hands of something as vague as chance.

But maybe just this once, she’ll allow herself to toss a coin.

She grabs the phone and stares at the time. It’s a quarter to five. Clarke’s job is unpredictable, the chances of her being next to her phone are as many as her not being.

Toss of a coin, Lexa reminds herself.

She clicks Clarke’s name. And she lets it ring.

Mentally, she counts to fifteen, the loud rings of the phone echoing in the four walls of her office.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Lexa hangs up before the voicemail message starts, defeated.

Seems she lost the coin toss.

**

Clarke leaves the interrogation room sighing. She had this hope inside of her that the man, one Carl Emerson, was the key to solve the case. Instead all she got was a crazy theory about the Mountain Men – an old folktale surrounding the mountains’ mine’s give in around the 1910’s where a group of around fifty miners is said to be buried alive, surviving only but eating the weakest amongst themselves – and how they were trying to scare him away from his land, seeking some kind of revenge because of a loose kinship between him and the owners of the mine’s at the time who simply closed it down instead of sending rescue.

Or, as Clarke simply likes to put it, lunatic bullshit.

Unfortunately for the team, this means that the case is looking more and more like it might have connections to the John Doe case from a couple months ago and she’s not particularly happy about it. She allows her weight to throw itself on to her chair, hands massaging tense temples. After a few deep breaths, Clarke sees her phone’s notification light flash and she grabs the device on instinct to check it.

Clarke sees red. She feels red. She is almost sure her face is red.

She nearly sends her chair flying backwards with how fast she gets up. The detective quickly shoves her phone in her pocket, but not before checking the time to make sure she’s clear for leaving. As she stares at the clock which assures her shift is over, Clarke looks back at her chair where her jacket hangs, yanking it violently and nearly missing her window of momentum to grab her helmet. Murphy’s just leaving the break room when Clarke passes past him, nearly knocking him down.

“Yo! Where’s the fire?!” Murphy yells after her, but Clarke barely hears it or the clear amusement in his voice at his case-related joke.

She goes into automatic mode once she’s on top of her bike. Adrenaline is rushing through her veins and anger is making her heart rate higher. How dare she? She kicked her out, nearly yelled at her that everything they had was a mistake, kept quiet for almost two weeks but now she calls her? Now? Now that she finally decided to give someone who truly cares for her a chance! How fucking dare she?

She pulls up to the gate and, to her surprise, it opens without her needing to identify herself. She looks to her right where a camera sits, blinking. Lexa probably never gave the order not to let her through after that night. But she doesn’t waste much more time on that before riding right to the front of the mansion. She barely looks around and it angers her even more that somehow Lexa managed to taint her wonder for this place.

She bangs on the door. Hard and hastily.

The door opens with a swing, revealing the same lady who opened the door for her and Murphy the first time she set foot in the house. The governess opens her mouth to ask something, but Clarke moves past her quickly without exchanging any words, nearly running in the direction of Lexa’s office. Behind her she hears the governess yelling as she follows her, attempting to stop whatever it is she wants. Well, Clarke’s not gonna let her.

She reaches her destination quickly and doesn’t bother to knock, pushing the wooden door open and stepping inside, letting the heavy door hit the wall behind it. Standing next to the desk with a few papers in hand is her _.  _ She doesn’t even flinch as the sound of the door banging against the wall.

“Oh!” Clarke doesn’t turn around, but she knows the governess caught up to her, breathless “Mrs. Woods, I am so sorry! She just ran right past me and I couldn’t stop her.”

“It’s fine Tory. You can leave now.” Lexa orders as she rests the papers on her desk, fully turning towards Clarke, “Shut the door behind you please, and if anyone shows up, tell them I’m busy.”, the governess nods, “Thank you.”

The door closes behind her, but Clarke barely registers it. She can feel her short nails digging into the skin of her palm. She hadn’t realized her hands had curled up into closed fists. Her jaw is locked with anger and what’s making it all worse is how seemingly disinterested Lexa looks with this situation, as if this is just another weekday for her. Her back is straight but not rigid and she tilts her head to the side slightly, silently questioning the detective’s presence. But oh, Clarke can see the storm brewing in her grayish green eyes, the same color as where the outside sky meets the top of the pine trees.

Lexa steps forward into the openness between her desk and the door but doesn’t approach Clarke more than ten steps.

“What are you doing here, Clarke?”

While the question is simple, the answer is not. Because Clarke doesn’t really know what she’s here for. Scream at her, maybe? Demand an explanation? Thinking about it makes her boil with anger.

And so, Clarke decides to go for the less complicated response. A none answer. “You called me.”

“I misclicked on your number.” Lexa answers it too quickly and it feels almost rehearsed, like she had been saying the same sentence to herself repeatedly, trying to convince herself of its veracity.

“Cut the bullshit Lexa.” Her voice rises without her consent, but she can’t control the anger anymore. This finally seems to startle Lexa just a little bit, and Clarke takes advantage of it, digging deeper.

“Why did you kick me out?” She demands.

Lexa looks like a trapped animal. She looks around her office for some type of escape from this conversation. Looking at her again, Lexa’s face grows colder and slightly angrier.

“I think it’s time for you to leave, detective.”

“Why?” And although her voice is demanding and attacking, there’s some wisps of hurt behind it.

Lexa’s chest rises and falls heavily. She lowers her eyes before looking up again.

Clarke watches as the heiress locks her jaw and blinks rapidly, trying to get rid of whatever feeling Clarke is managing to raise out of her. And then it hits her.

“You want me to go because you have feelings for me…” Clarke stares at her and then slowly moves her eyes to the framed picture that sits on the desk at an angle, just enough for Clarke to catch a glimpse of curly dark hair. Lexa’s late wife. “And you feel guilty for that.”

Lexa doesn’t answer, doesn’t move. She simply stares at Clarke with guilt in her eyes. And even after saying it out loud, the visual confirmation of the heiress' feelings for her make her even angrier.

“You do… you actually fucking d-”

“Having those feelings does not mean I want to act on them.” Lexa interrupts her and Clarke can only scoff, incredulous.

“Yeah, that worked out great for you didn’t it? Did you fuck me to try and get them off your system?”

Clarke wants her to remember it. Not that she believes Lexa forgot, but she wants her to admit what happened and  _ why  _ it happened.

“That was weakness.”

The statement is simple and clear. And is said as such. The same way one says the grass is green or that water is wet. Still, it baffles Clarke to her core.

“What was? Having feelings?”  _ Love?  _ It’s not love, not yet at least. But that’s what Lexa means, isn’t it?

**Love is weakness.**

“Yes. I was weak to let you in. I can’t have weaknesses.” Her eyes shift down, thinking of the woman whose pictures sits behind her and then her eyes meet Clarke’s stare, “Not again.” She adds, quieter.

The statement brings Clarke’s anger to the surface once more “Bullshit.”

“Has love never been a weakness for you, Clarke?”

She thinks of Finn, of how she blindly fell for him, ignoring all the red flags that eventually lead to him cheating on her and how they played a part in his death. She thinks of Raven, brave Raven, trying to protect her and ending up with a bullet on her spine. She thinks of her dad, doing what he did so his little girl could be proud of him. No.  _ No.  _ Her feelings weren’t to blame for that. No more than the weather was to blame. Her feelings are not a weakness. They are her strength.

“You think having feelings makes me weak?” Clarke spits out, accusing. She takes purposeful steps towards Lexa, forcing her to back up with each step taken in her direction, “You’re weak for hiding from them.” Clarke stops for a second, “I can see right through you… They haunt you…” She takes another step, cornering Lexa between her body and her desk, “Costia haunts you. Your dad haunts you. Whoever more you lost before that haunts you. And they all control you. All because you are so busy trying not to drown in your own guilt, you can barely allow yourself to feel anything else…”

They’re faces are nearly glued to each other, Clarke’s nose mere inches away from Lexa’s. Without realizing her hand has come to rest on Lexa’s hip, forcing her against the desk.

Clarke’s red cheeks are only rivaled by Lexa’s own crimson face, brought up from anger and shame. The detective’s breath is hot on her face, the heavy breathing heating her lips in small puffs of hot air making her feel trapped and needing to push Clarke away from her personal space so she can think about something other than the woman’s piercing blue eyes on her face, reading every single emotion she spent countless years carefully hiding away.

“Get! out!” Lexa yells – no, growls, a last effort of escaping the emotional and physical corner she was backed into it.

But it seems her captor has no intention of letting her go.

“No.”

Lexa barely registers the response before Clarke’s lips capture hers between them, teeth coming to bite her bottom lip quickly before pulling at it and untimely pulling away, leaving them both breathless. The heiress stares at the detective’s lips, now stained with her light lipstick before switching her stare to Clarke’s eyes. The blue is nearly gone, replaced with blown up black irises. Her hand is still on her hip, but it no longer pushes against it, allowing her an exit.

Lexa doesn’t take it.

Instead she pulls Clarke back for another kiss, teeth clashing with each other as Clarke’s hand leaves her hip and moves to her tight, urging her to sit on the desk and Lexa obeys, absentmindedly.

Clarke quickly takes control of the kiss, tongue licking and nibbling at Lexa’s lower lip, asking for passage that the heiress happily grants. It’s when Clarke’s hands slowly find their way underneath the fabric of her dress that Lexa breaks the kiss, earning her a displeased groan for Clarke.

“Not here...” Her breathing is heavy as she pushes against Clarke to let her hop off the desk, “Upstairs.” She orders.

She somewhat expects Clarke to grab her arm and lead the way. Instead the detective nods, looking suddenly hesitant. Understanding where her hesitation derives from, Lexa extends her hand, wordlessly.

They’re both sober this time. They both have a chance to back out, to give into their own fears and go their separate ways. But still, Clarke takes Lexa’s hand, letting the heiress walk her to the comfort of her room once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone that didn't want Clarke to mope around because of Lexa, don't worry, she just got angry :P  
> And I know all of you are here for Clexa, I am too, but can we just collectivily pour one out for my girl Niylah, she's really on the losing side here poor girl! :( :P
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys like the chapter it was both a pain and a lot of fun to write :D Kudos, comments and feedback are always appreciated!
> 
> Thank you all of you for reading, commenting, leaving kudos or simply enjoying the fic :D


	10. Loving Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa and Clarke lay out the boundaries for their growing relationship while Clarke has to tight some loose ends in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers and happy 2021!  
> I hope you had a good (and covid safe) holiday and that this new year brings all of you everything good 2020 refused to deliver!  
> This chapter was supposed to be posted around Christmas but turns out I have a really hard time writing a full fleshed smut scene, which made me leave it unfinished for the sake of my own sanity. Shout out to my 'beta' readers for listening to me complain about it for way too long instead of actually writing it :p That being said, it's definitely not the best smut ever but I hope it's as bad as my mind will have me think.   
> Enjoy the read!

The entirety of TonDC Mansion feels like it’s stopped in time, appearing not to make a single sound as Lexa leads Clarke to her bedroom. Realistically, Clarke knows there are more people in the house, if not just the governess. But as anger and adrenaline still run through her veins, there could be a room full of people around them, crushing them by the thousands and Clarke is certain the only two people she would see and feel moving were her and Lexa. The heiress doesn’t rush them to her bedroom, she climbs the stairs step by step, mockingly, like she blissfully unaware of the will power it’s taking Clarke not to take her right there on the stairs, modesty or shame be damned. She opens the door painstakingly slowly, softly urging Clarke inside. The detective doesn’t look around, doesn’t take in the majesty that is the master bedroom like she did the last time she stepped foot inside of it, no. She’s way more interested in staring at Lexa as she closes the door; and once that last barrier between them and the outside world is closed, Clarke is on her.

Her back is hitting the door with a huff as soon as Lexa turns around. Clarke’s mouth on her takes only a second to process before she is reciprocating the kiss. There are no pleasantries, no slow building of the kiss this time around, Clarke isn’t tentatively learning what Lexa likes or dislikes, wants or doesn’t. She’s biting, angrily attacking her lips with rough kissing and Lexa gladly grants her the access to do so. There’s a knee applying pressure between her legs that makes Lexa moan into the kiss, moving her hips forward, chasing any kind of friction before her attempts are stopped. 

“Stay.” It’s the order barked at her and Lexa obeys, willingly, “Good girl.”

This is something Lexa is not used to - all this roughness Clarke seems to bring to the table. She scolds herself from thinking of Costia at a moment like this but it can’t be helped. Lexa is used to Costia’s soft touches, whispered sweet little nothings and loving kisses. Costia was all passion and love, give and take. Clarke’s different. Clarke is hard touches, bruising kisses and demanding commands that make her respond in a way she never did during sex. A part of her feels shameful for it, she was raised to command and lead, not the other way around. The bigger part of her doesn’t give a simple crap and is more delighted to obey. 

And Lexa wasn’t so busy stopping her hips from moving again or trying to control the feeling setting deep down in her stomach at Clarke’s choice of pet name, she would have found it in herself to be annoyed at Clarke’s cocky smirk. As Clarke continues her assault on her mouth and slowly descends to her neck, she feels a hand creep towards her skirt, yanking it up her body in a rather erratic manner and it’s not long before Clarke’s mouth leaves her to murmur something unadiable in an annoyed tone; the tight fabric of her skirt seems to be offering Clarke a challenge by refusing to stay up around Lexa’s hips.

“Need help?” she finds herself asking, between heavy breaths. The amusement in her voice finds it’s way out before she can stop it but Clarke doesn’t seem pleased with it.

“Shut it.” The order comes out like a frustrated reprimand, Clarke’s anger towards her very present in her voice.

Lexa lowers her head slightly and bites her lip. Laughing at Clarke’s frustration could only end badly for her. But she’s also extremely turned on and not in the mood to let Clarke take her time figuring out how to maintain a piece of clothing up when she could just as easily take it off. It’s with that hazy thought in mind that Lexa takes a step forward, unzipping it and letting the expensive clothing fall to the floor like a dirty rag. Clarke’s eyes follow her movements and the pride Lexa feels with helping them move along is quickly taken from her by Clarke slamming her against the door again, their mouths crashing into one another violently.

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” Clarke whispers in reprimand, soft lips touching her own as the words leave her mouth and Lexa has never felt so proud of being scolded.

Before she can apologize, admittedly without any regret behind it, Clarke lips close the small space between them. Lexa’s surprised to feel Clarke being more gentle than before, her fire still present but hidden for the moment as she allows both of them to get lost in a sweeter kiss than those who came before it. The brunette’s hand finds it’s way around Clarke’s waist, pulling her body closer to hers and Clarke allows it; the small giving up of control having Lexa smile into the kiss. 

It doesn’t last long.

Clarke breaks the kiss abruptly, leaving Lexa in a small daze as the warmth on her lips is gone. A squeeze on her waist urges her to open her eyes. Blue irises stare at her right in the eye, silently asking her if Lexa wants to continue. 

And that is the source of all of Lexa's anguish, isn’t it? She does. God, she wants her to continue with everything in her being. There’s a reason Clarke had been slipping into her mind more often than not during the days following their unfortunate departure. Maybe Lexa wasn’t ready to deep dive into what that reason was, but right now Clarke isn’t asking for any of that. If she says no now, Clarke will leave and never come back again, that much is obvious; had Lexa refused her downstairs that’s exactly what would have happened. But that's not what Lexa wants; oh no, what Lexa wants is the exact opposite. 

So, she nods, more enthusiastically than predicted. 

And, despite her anger, Clarke lets out a small chuckle at Lexa’s eagerness, making Lexa shyly smile at the sound. But the change in mood doesn’t last; Clarke lips are once again on hers and everything in Lexa’s screams for Clarke to hurry up and make her cum. As if reading her mind, Clarke’s mouth starts descending, Playing just a little more attention at her pulse point in her neck before continuing her rapid descending through her body until her breath is hitting Lexa’s still covered core in warm puffs. The feeling of it has Lexa groan with anticipation followed by an embarrassing whine. From her now kneeled position, Clarke lifts an eyebrow, not softened by Lexa’s impatience.

A finger slowly grazes the extent of her openness, sending a shiver through her body, a low gasp following it. Clarke does it again, seemingly enjoying the slight give of Lexa’s leg and she tries to maintain her body upright against the door. Green eyes roll up as she feels more wetness soak her already ruined underwear, Clarke fingers teasing her through its fabric over and over again. She groans and moans but Clarke seems to be purposefully denying her of what she wants. 

“Clarke… Please…” She pleads with the woman kneeled in front her, frustration starting to set. It takes all her willpower not to swat Clarke’s hand away and finish herself off. 

“Please, what?” The detective’s voice shows no pity on her.

The heiress isn’t used to having to beg for what she wants - ever, in her life. And it’s with that pride that she incomprehensibly mumbles what she desires. 

“I didn’t quite catch that, I’m sorry.” She’s not, not with that infuriating smirk on her face, fingers still gracing her underwear, too light and slow to get Lexa where she wants to be.

A deep breath, “I want you… inside…” her face burns red and Lexa wishes she was laying in bed so she could hide her face on the pillow. 

“Now, was that so hard?” She hears Clarke comment, letting Lexa’s underwear fall at her feet, but the sound of her voice is quickly overshadowed by Lexa’s loud moaning as two fingers enter her without any resistance or warning. 

Her hands find the door handle, her legs already too weak to support her weight. Clarke’s fingers continue their motion, pumping into her in a fast rhythm and Lexa is already so worked up that it doesn’t take long for her to feel her walls close against Clarke’s finger as an orgasm approaches. The wooden doors serve as a hard cushion for her head as she lets it hit it gently, waiting for climax. She frowns as it never arrives. Instead the fingers inside of her leave just as unceremoniously as they entered her, leaving Lexa feeling absolutely unsatisfied, a sentiment she shares with an audible whine.

The other woman ignores her whining once again, opting for scooping her up instead and quickly closing the space between the door and the bed, laying her on it gently, much to Lexa’s surprise and bending herself just enough to place a kiss on the brunette's lips before she starts to undress without much care, not particularly interested in giving Lexa a show, much to the heiress dismay. She has yet to undress Clarke on her own terms and her hands itch to do so, slowly. 

As soon as her last piece of clothing is off, Clarke is back on top of Lexa, stealing another kiss from her, more passionate this time. She climbs on top of Lexa, stopping only when her knees are right beside Lexa’s now red ears.

Lexa looks up, seizing the moment of Clarke towering her to take her in inch by inch. Strong legs join soft hips marked by the worn out jeans the detective arrived in. Her stomach is equally as soft but Lexa knows that behind the softness lies toned muscle, the memory of whiny texts about a pained session at the gym after a hard day at the station coming to mind. As her eyes travel up to Clarke’s generous chest she feels a blush creep on to her cheeks, the insatiable desire to reach up and take one breast in her hand overcoming her. As a trial, Lexa let’s her hand softly brush Clarke’s thigh, hoping that the woman above her will allow her to reach up and grab the soft mound in her hand. To Lexa’s shock Clarke fingers brush the length of Lexa’s hand softly, an intimate gesture she wasn’t ready for. But just like everything else tonight, it’s gone as soon as it starts; her hand is taken away from soft skin and placed above her head, her other hand coming to accompany it on instinct. 

“I’m going first this time.” The demand on her voice has a questioning tone behind it and Lexa can’t hide the way Clarke’s constant assurance of permission makes her feel so absolutely safe despite her aggressiveness.

“Okay.” She replies, softly. 

Clarke lowers herself to her agonizingly slowly and it feels like an eternity before Lexa’s tongue finally makes contact with Clarke’s wetness. Lexa doesn’t need to be told to start moving, tentatively giving the first flick of her tongue, soon after focusing her sole attention to Clarke’s clit, taking her time to appreciate everything Clarke has to offer, from the warmth of her thighs around her head to the taste of core. Clarke starts to roll her hips, urging Lexa to keep going and the low moans she lets out have Lexa squeezing her legs as the ghost of the orgasm she was denied comes back. After a few seconds it becomes clear that her gentle movements around Clarke’s nob aren’t enough as the detective reaches down to her hair, fingers interlining with chestnut strands and tugging at it.

“Fuck... Harder!”

Lexa obeys without a second thought, gentle strokes switched for harder, faster ones.

“Oh god Lexa… Go faster!” 

As Clarke reaches climax, her hold on Lexa’s hair becomes tighter and a moan echoes inside Clarke, tongue still at work, slower now, helping Clarke out of her high. Lexa smiles proudly but quickly frowns as Clarke removes herself unceremoniously and without another word, quickly reaching down to plant a wet kiss on Lexa, taking a second to taste herself in smudged lipstick covered lips until Lexa is panting with lack of oxygen. A hand reaches down between her legs and the gentle finger grazing the folds of her entrance forces her to open her legs wider, begging for entrance. 

Above her Clarke smirks, their noses brushing. She’s attacked by another sudden kiss before Clarke’s mouth is on her neck and and her hands searching for the hem of the shirt Lexa hadn’t realized she was still wearing but as soon as the feeling of the suffocating fabric against her hot skin reaches her, she begins to take off. A hand tries to stop her but Lexa keeps going, her mind clouded. 

“Hey!” Clarke’s voice is one of indignation. 

Lexa is about to ignore her and keep undressing herself without permission once again when the detective retrieves her hand from where Lexa so desperately wanted it and delivers an open palm slap to the side of her ass.

“Aw! Sorry.” Lexa apologizes in a rushed tone, immediately stopping. All she wants is for Clarke to go back to what she was doing before and for her shirt to be gone.

“What did I tell you before?” Clarke argues but Lexa can see the anger Clarke harbored towards her at the start of the evening has now dissipated. Instead, there’s amusement in her eyes and some devilish behind the smirk that threatens to make itself known in the corner of her lip, “Stop undressing yourself, that’s my job!” 

Lexa simply nods, not at all interested in having this conversation, her focus on the hand that now rests on her tights instead of inside of her. A finger forces her to look at Clarke’s face.

“You do what I tell you to do and nothing else, get it?” Clarke commands, so obviously suppressing a chuckle that Lexa’s attention is momentarily shifted to it.

“I get- Aw!” Lexa yelps as Clarke’s hand again makes contact with her skin, sending outrage to her face and a new coat of wetness to her core. 

The amused smirk and chuckle now leave Clarke freely, “I felt like you weren’t getting.”

Lexa scoffs, exasperated, ”I got it just fine, thank you. Can you just… continue, please?” 

“Eager, are we?” The cocky smirk is back and Lexa feels like she could slap it off of her if it didn’t actually make her feel even hornier for Clarke.

“Claaarke!” Lexa shamelessly whines, too desperate for any kind of friction as her clit begs for attention to want to bicker with the detective right now. 

“God, you’re needy!” The teasing tone is muffed to Lexa’s ear as her shirt is lifted above her and taken off. Lexa beams at Clarke’s discovery of her lack of bra use for the day. The surprise doesn’t last long before a pink nipple is covered in the warmth of Clarke’s mouth and two fingers tease Lexa’s folds. 

She’s already so worked up that when Clarke’s finger grazes the bud that is already perking from its hood, Lexa lets out a loud moan, a shiver going through her whole body. Clarke’s fingers stop right at her entrance, giving her just enough time to change the attention of her mouth to Lexa’s opposite breast before her fingers are being shoved inside with surprising delicacy but it’s not long before they fasten their pace. In her ecstasy Lexa forgets Clarke’s silent orders and wraps her arms around Clarke, hands barely touching her back at first but it's not long before short nails are scratching the pale skin of Clarke’s back with more force, leaving a trail of red skin behind and making Clarke let out a pleased moan. As Lexa’s walls start to clutch around Clarke’s finger, the detective releases Lexa’s breast with a loud ‘pop’.

Her head lifts and as soon as blue eyes stare at her own, Lexa closes them, the sudden intimacy of the look threatening to drown her. Clarke seems to understand, leaving soft kisses on her jaw and neck as Lexa comes undone beneath her, her loud moans certainly echoing throughout the old mansion for any staff to hear, encouraged by Clarke's smile against her skin. 

As she finally reaches what she’s been chasing all night, Lexa lets her body weight sink into the soft bed, chest quickly rising and falling and she tries to catch her breath.

“Hey, It’s okay, you’re okay.” Clarke whispers into her ear, softly and gently and it’s not long before Lexa realizes she has uninvited tears falling from her eyes.

“Oh dear…” Lexa replies as she wipes away the falling drops of salty water, “I’m sorry.” She half chuckles, voice hoarse. She didn’t expect to cry. 

A kiss falls on her forehead and the feeling of being cared for calms her down, Clarke now sporting a gentle smile, laying on her side next to her, her hand tenderly brushing through Lexa’s messy hair as she tries to compose herself. “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

Lexa smiles kindly and they share a silence only broken by the heiress’ ocasional sniffle or Clarke slightly too heavy exhale. Lexa’s not tired despite the taxing physical activity they had just partaken in as her mind races through thoughts she would rather avoid at the moment. Thus, she searches for Clarke’s eyes in the low brightness of the room, hoping not to find them closed. Much to her delight she finds the detective still staring at her, pensively.

“Lexa?” Clarke speaks up, although quietly, meant to be heard just by the two of them, as if the walls had ears. 

“Clarke…” Lexa responds in the same manner, a confirmation of her consciousness.

“You want this, right?” The detective’s voice holds slightly on the word, not sure what  _ this  _ truly is. 

“If by this you mean  _ this _ ,” Lexa emphasized, looking between them both, “Then yes, I do.” 

It seems to be easier for her to admit so in the dark. Admit that she does, indeed, crave for someone other than the lover she lost. The darkness hides her shame and guilt, even from Lexa herself.

Clarke doesn’t respond. For a minute, Lexa fears she has fallen asleep but that thought is quickly discarded as Clarke’s mouth finds its way to hers and a hand forces her legs to open once more.

They both smile into the kiss. God, Lexa wants this.

***

The alarm clock on the bedside table is flashing eleven at night when Clarke manages to open her eyes; she had managed to doze off for only half an hour. She feels tired and spent, the barely there nap doing nothing but make her feel cranky. Despite it, all her anger is gone, replaced with satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment. She shifts on the bed quietly, aware of the sleeping woman next to her. Clarke frowns as Lexa’s weight slowly moves until she’s facing her side, head coming to rest on Clarke’s shoulder. Mindlessly, her arm wraps around Lexa’s waist, waiting for her to settle against her again, fast asleep. Instead, she feels eyelashes slowly brushing her skin, up and down, accompanied by uneven breathing.

“You awake?” Clarke whispers, unaware of her hand now rubbing on the curve of Lexa’s hip.

“Mhm'' The sleepy woman hums, turning her head up to look at Clarke. The detective is now staring at the ceiling, unfocused. She had forgotten the intricate details that were carved into the old wood, “Clarke, it’s getting late…”

Blue unfocused eyes are quick to snap back to Lexa’s face, jaw visibly locking.

“At least this time you’re nicer about it.” Clarke remarks, rudely retrieving her arm from underneath Lexa’s body and sitting on the bed, visibly hurt.

Unlike last time, Lexa quickly grabs the blonde’s arm just as she’s getting up, her hand quickly sliding down to Clarke’s. The other woman looks back, surprised to feel Lexa’s warm hand on her already cooling one. Now lifted and supporting her weight on her left side, Lexa’s face is soft, satisfied exhaustion plastered all over it, left cheek a rosier color than her counterpart from resting on Clarke’s shoulder. Her lips still show the red and puffiness of rough kissing, parted just enough to show two adorable peaking front teeth and her hair is wild, a mess of curly and wavy tangled into each other. But, more importantly, her eyes, shining a nearly golden blend of green and yellow in the low light of the room, plead with her to come back under the softness of the sheets next to her.

“I meant to hint at you staying the night, Clarke.” Lexa whispers. She feels herself unable to look at Clarke in the eye, choosing instead to let her gaze wander to the hand dangling from Clarke’s, not holding tightly enough to prevent Clarke from escaping but just tightly enough to pass the message of her want for Clarke’s visit not to end yet. The twinge of remorse and guilt is still ever so present in her heart but intertwined with it is this want for Clarke to be close to her again that feels too big, too strong for her to ignore.

“Are you sure?” Clarke questions, softly. As much as she wants to stay, she doesn’t want to be a charity case.

“I am.” Lexa gently squeezes her hand, reaffirming her words.

“Okay.”

She once more makes herself comfortable, allowing Lexa the time to cuddle back into her form before throwing the covers over herself and exhaling, contently. She feels herself drift off, the gentle noise of rain that neither of them had realized was falling and Lexa’s delicate finger gently drawing imaginary circles just beneath her chest lulling her slowly back to sleep.

“Clarke?”

The detective doesn’t open her eyes, her eyelids too heavy for the call to be effective, “Hm?”

“I feel like we need to draw a line here.”

Lexa watches as Clarke slowly opens her eyes and purses her lips, her sight directed at the empty space between them and the high ceiling. She fears having this conversation will make Clarke jump off the bed again, accuse her of playing with her heart and storm off. And even if that’s the case, Lexa can’t avoid saying what she has to say. Clarke needs - deserves – to know where she stands. She’s not ready for anything permanent. She’s not ready to love freely like she once did, to commit to someone like she had before. Clarke deserves not to have hopes for what she cannot give.

“I get it.” Clarke replies, nothing but understanding in her voice. Her eyes have now left the heavens and are staring at her, but her answer barely registers with Lexa as spits out the speech she had been preparing in her head.

“I don’t think we should go further than this. I’m not ready for a relationship, at least not a romantic one. The texting, this,” Lexa gestures to them both, still naked and worn out from their previous activities, “maybe I can do. But I’m not ready to act upon whatever feelings are surging between us. I’m sorry.” She takes a deep breath, her voice shaking at the very end. Her hand retrieves from its spot on Clarke’s chest, her gaze taking its place instead, too afraid to look at Clarke’s face to read whatever expression it shows.

“Lexa,” She feels her hand being guided again to the warmth of Clarke’s skin, “I get it. I do. And I agree.” Mouth slightly agape, Lexa’s eyes find Clarke’s in the dim light, waiting for more to be said. “I don’t think I’m ready to be with anyone like that either. Not yet anyways.”

As the honest words leave her mouth, they surprise even Clarke herself.

It’s a confession she hadn’t realized she needed to make. Not to Lexa, but to herself. Had her date with Niylah not been evidence of that? Or the way she was so quick to let a single call from Lexa anger her to the point to drive all the way here to demand an explanation. She’s not ready to be involved with someone that deeply. Maybe when she has sorted out her shit she will, but not right now. Friends with benefits had worked with Niylah up until to the point where Clarke started to cave in to Niylah’s wishes for more because of her own selfish needs. But her and Lexa were on the same page. They both had shit to sort and deal with. She feels this enormous pull that she can’t even begin to explain towards Lexa and it’s clear as day that the other woman feels the same, but this is not the right time for them to formally act upon it. Lexa will be gone from Arkadia in a year, god knows if the right time will ever come up or if Lexa will even be the person she’s meant to be with. The only thing Clarke knows is that now is not the right second nor the right day, week, or month for it. And she’s fine with it.

Lexa exhales audibly, relief written all over her expression, “Good.”

Their breathing fills the silence for a heartbeat, the rain pouring outside their only background noise.

“Good.” Clarke echoes, feeling so much lighter.

A muffed chuckle against her collar bone makes her chuckle too.

“What?” She questions, positioning her head to stare at green eyes.

“In hindsight, your outburst through my office earlier, yelling about feelings, seems to have been in vain.”

Clarke can’t help but to embarrassingly chuckle again, letting the hand that doesn’t hold Lexa’s body against hers rub her forehead, hoping to eliminate the image of what she now realizes was a complete lack of self-control fade from her memory.

“Well... Yeah.” They both share another chuckle, “But it did lead us here.”

The heiress nods in agreement. Clarke’s still staring at her, her eyes slowly blinking as she fights back the sleep that she had been so close to before Lexa’s confession. Last time Lexa had fallen asleep too fast and woken too distressed to take her in like this, all soft and comfortable. She allows her hand to raise and brush a small strand of blonde hair that has escaped and fallen between her eyes, making Clarke sight contently as gentle fingers graze her forehead, closing her eyes for a second. She hopes Clarke can’t feel the way her heart beats faster at her serenity.

“Sleep…” Lexa whispers softly.

In response, Clarke adjusts her body, trying to bring Lexa closer to her before wishing her a goodnight in a low, raspy voice.

As her breathing becomes steadier and slower, Lexa lets her lips lightly brush Clarke’s parted ones.

“Goodnight Clarke.”

***

Consciousness starts coming back to her slowly, the erratic sound of birds outside and the low and slow sound of the remainder of the rainwater falling in small droplets on to the ground both enlarged by Lexa’s still dozy mind. She refuses to open her eyes, knowing that soon her mind will shut the sounds out so she can continue on with her sleep. She stays still, fearing that movement will make her body believe it’s ready for the day. The sudden sound of loud music jerks the warm and soft body underneath hers, rending her efforts fruitless.

“Urgh.” Clarke grunts loudly as she jumps out of bed, looking for her pants where her phone’s alarm blares from, cursing grumpily underneath her breath.

Still under the warmth of the covers, Lexa whines at the loss of contact but doesn’t dwell on it much, rolling instead to look at her own phone, “Uh shit, it’s late!”

“It’s seven thirty, how is that late?”

As she turns her eyes to respond to Clarke, Lexa loses her wording. She has seen Clarke naked twice now but something about Clarke’s bare chest moving as she wiggles inside her jeans leaves Lexa’s mouth dry. And something else wet.

Buttoning the last button on her pants, Clarke looks up, still waiting for an answer. The smirk is inevitable as Lexa sits on the bed with blown pupils. Dropping the shirt she had picked up, Clarke moves to the bed, slowly crawling over the extension of it until she’s nearly face to face with the heiress, letting out a low chuckle when Lexa’s breath hitches as her chest bumps into hers.

“You seem very interested in something…” Clarke teases, slowly tugging at the sheets that cover Lexa, making the brunet smile innocently.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, detective.”

The use of her job title seems to awaken something in Clarke, her expression turning from flirtatious to predatory.

“I’m positive you do, Mrs. Woods.”

Their lips are merely inches apart, Lexa’s hand already resting at the base of Clarke’s neck when a violent scratching sound stops them both.

“What in the fucking hell was that?” The detective questions absolutely startled. The small hint of fear doesn’t miss Lexa as she purses her lips to refrain from laughing but a snot manages to escape.

“What?-” Another scratching sound, this time more desperate and accompanied with a small cry “What the fuck is that?”

Instead of answering, Lexa softly pushes Clarke away from her and gets up with the sheets around her. Just when a new scratch comes in, she opens the bedroom door.

Clarke’s never seen a bigger dog. It comes in running, jumping on the bed like it’s its own, tail wagging. She tries to carefully leave the bed before the beast notices her but she’s unsuccessful as the wet muzzle is quickly on her face, sniffing her.

“ _ Daun,  _ Apollo.” Clarke hears Lexa command but the amused smile on her face doesn’t match her tone of voice.

Nonetheless, the big dog stands down, sitting perfectly still on the bed. Clarke takes the opportunity to dip out of the bed and swiftly finishes dressing up, maintaining one eye on the dog on the bed, now happily receiving ear scratches from Lexa.

“That’s a big ass dog.” Clarke comments as she stares at the mirror to make herself as presentable as her wrinkled shirt allows.

“He’s a St Bernard.” Lexa says, as if that’s supposed to mean something to Clarke. It’s not that she doesn’t like dogs, it’s just that, well, they’re a lot. “And you’re such a good boy, yes you are!”

The shock of hearing Lexa talk in a baby voice hits her like a train. Somehow, in her mind, that just wasn’t a thing that could happen. Lexa is poise and posture, only breaking down when clothes are off and walls are down. But here she is, scratching the belly of her furry friend and praising him the same way a mother does to a child. And as Lexa laughs at Apollo’s sudden tongue attack on her cheek, Clarke can’t stop herself from admitting that the sound of her laughter absolutely enamors her.

A knock comes followed by a question, “Lexa, are you awake?”

_ Anya.  _ Lexa gestures for Apollo to stay and he obeys her without a second thought.

“Yes. I slept in today a little.” Lexa yells to the other side of the door.

She sees Clarke opening her mouth to speak but Lexa’s wordless ‘quiet’ has her closing it again.

“Are you feeling okay?” Anya’s tone is now one of concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You sure? Your voice is a bit hoarse…”

Green eyes find blue ones, a blush on her cheeks as they both know the reason for that. Lexa tries to clear her throat before continuing.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Okay… I’m going out for coffee, you want some?”

Lexa sighs with relief, “Yes, thank you.”

“Okay… I’ll be going now.” There’s suspicion in her voice but her steps start distancing her from the door and both women inside can breathe easy.

As the sound of the heavy front doors is heard, Clarke speaks up, “Does she not know about me? Or about the other night?”

Locating her silk robe, Lexa puts it on, no longer hidden by just a sheet, “No,” she approaches Clarke who seems to be having a hard time zipping up her jacket, “And I would prefer if we could keep it that way.” She admits, taking charge of zipping Clarke’s jacket.

“I’m assuming that applies to my side of things too.” There’s no accusation in her voice, her assumption for it still the same as when their relationship was nothing more than texts.

“Yes.” It’s the simple response she gives, placing a kiss in Clarke’s mouth which seems to take her by surprise before she reciprocates, “You’re gonna be late for work.”

The words are not fully out of her mouth before Clarke’s eyes open wide, “Shit!” In a hurry she takes one last look around the room to check if she’s missing something, “’kay, I’m gonna go. Bye Apollo,” a growl in her direction, “Got it.”

“Apollo.” A warning tone that has the dog immediately lie down in apology.

“So... Bye.” She’s by the door now and the mood abruptly switches to awkward.

“I’ll text you.” Lexa suggests and at the sight of her serene face, still showing the tail-tale signs of a good fuck, Clarke smiles with pride.

“Cool.” God, Clarke doesn’t even remember being this awkward in high school.

“Work, Clarke.”

And without another word, Clarke is gone, leaving a giggling Lexa behind.

From his spot on the bed Apollo looks up at her, big brown eyes that haven’t changed ever since he was a tiny puppy seem to blame her.

“She’s been gone for a while now Apollo,” she sits next to him and slowly drags her hand across his shiny fur, “and I’m lonely.”

The tears well up in her eyes without warning. She is lonely, in everything she does. And her heart has been screaming for so long to just let it ill and now she is, slowly and with nothing more than a promise of not asking for more than either of them can give right now. At the sight of her tears the dog gets up, snuggling his head on his owner’s neck in a sight of comfort, whining as more fall. And Lexa knows the whine doesn’t mean anything, he isn’t talking to her or trying to say anything. But she replies still.

“I miss her too.”

***

The Ark PD stations’ showers are, for a lack of better words, gross. Clarke is almost sure they don’t see more water other than the one used to wash sweaty bodies for a month at a time. But when lacking the time to shower at her just slightly less gross home shower and still feeling sticky from sex, this is her only option. She’s glad for them and the moment of quiet they provide as she tries to process everything that happened and everything that might happen from here on out. Clarke feels oddly giddy with the prospect of going back to simple text messages with Lexa now that she knows where they both stand on this subject. There’s something about talking with Lexa all those weeks ago that felt strangely like home. It was the sensation of rekindling a friendship with a long-lost friend, new and very familiar at the same time. Her dad would have called it kindred souls. Clarke stopped believing in those types of things the day he died.

The day wraps quickly for Clarke, six p.m. arriving sooner than she expected and she can only thank her wandering mind for it. The four detectives step outside the station together, discussing plans for meeting up later.

“Hi you guys!” The darkness outside hides Niylah as she stands next to the door, bright orange umbrella in one hand and Clarke’s spare helmet in the other.

“Hey Niylah!” Clarke’s the first one to greet her, followed by Octavia who leans in to hug her best friend while the other two, who are usually on the sidelines when it comes to Clarke and Octavia’s moral debate over her, give Niylah a simple wave.

“I’m going in your direction if you want a ride!” Octavia is quick to offer but Niylah shakes her head.

“I came here to give Clarke back her helmet.” Her eyes are now on Clarke, “And I was hoping we could talk?”

Clarke nods. She had hoped she could have done this later rather than sooner, go home and think about what to say before calling Niylah and officially ending the mess of a relationship they had. It was something she knew was going to hurt her and probably unleash Octavia’s wrath upon her, but it needed to be done. She had played enough with Niylah feelings for her own benefit and if there’s something Clarke knows is that she isn’t the good guy in this story. But even the bad guy can do a good thing for someone else’s sake.

“How about we go get some pie at the diner?” Clarke purposes. Admittedly this shouldn’t be done in public, but she doesn’t know where else to take it.

“Sure.”

They say their goodbyes and both women start walking to the diner, feet stepping on small puddles of water.

“So-” Niylah breaks the silence.

“I-” Clarke does the same, right at the same time.

They both laugh, awkwardly.

“You go first.” Niylah encourages her and Clarke takes the opportunity.

They are now in the small and badly illuminated parking lot of the Ark diner and Clarke can feel the burning of the diner sign’s neon lights.

Now or never.

“We can’t do this anymore.” She has said it so many times, repeated it to herself when the door was close and it was just her in the room but they both knew it was an empty statement back then. But by the way Niylah’s face falls, Clarke is certain she knows that, this time, she’s not bluffing.

“Clarke, I’m fine with just sex, we can go back…”

It hurts Clarke to see how this hurts Niylah, the awful guilt building in her stomach telling her just how much she is to blame for stringing her along.

“No, Niylah, look; you’re a really nice girl - a wonderful girl. But we want different things,” Clarke pauses; it has become so hard to breath all the sudden, “and I can’t keep letting you hurt yourself. You deserve someone who loves you and wants to be with you. And... I’m not that someone.”

“But yesterday-” Niylah pleads.

Clarke can only shrug and bite her lip as she tries to avoid getting emotional. She doesn’t deserve to be the one crying over this.

“I was being selfish and I ended up playing with your feelings for me instead of dealing with what I had to deal with for myself.”

She stares at the floor, at the windows where happy people dine, even lets her eyes burn by staring at the neon sign a bit longer than she should. Anything not to look at Niylah’s face.

“Look at me.” Through her tears and choked sobs, Niylah’s voice is demanding.

Clarke obeys, only for the little composure Niylah had gained to fall again.

“I love you.” It’s a choked confession, one she’s heard before.

Clarke can hear her heart breaking and hers breaks with it.

“I-”

“Say it.”

“What?”

“I need to hear you say it. So I can move on… Please, say it.”

She’s not waiting for Clarke to reciprocate. It physically pains her to say it out loud, but it’s the truth. And for Niylah’s sake, she needs to do it.

“I don’t love you.”

The words bring tears she can’t hide and Niylah’s pained sob only makes it worse. She should’ve ended this a long time ago, but she didn’t and what she was so scared would inevitably happen is finally happening and she can’t blame anyone other than herself.

There are eyes on them now, both from the inside, as those sitting at the window booth have noticed their conversation, and from a couple teenagers who had just arrived. Before more curious eyes find them Clarke tries to touch the crying woman’s arm, take her home,  _ something  _ to make this awful guilt she feels lessen. But Niylah shrugs her off, breathing slowly becoming controlled again. The borrowed helmet she still held is forcefully shoved into Clarke’s hand.

“I’m gonna walk home.” And with that, she’s gone.

There are whispers being her and she turns around to see the same group of teenagers trying to snoop on the conversation they were having.

“Wanna take a picture, you little shits?” Clarke yells at them before turning away, leaving them to conspire about what they saw by themselves.

There will be talk tomorrow, she’s sure of it. This might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back in hers and Octavia’s friendship. But it needed to be done and now, it is. Although, it doesn’t make Clarke feel any less like absolute crap.

**[6:36 p.m.] You:**

_ Can I come over? _

She slowly and painfully makes her way back to the station where her bike is still parked.

**[6:43 p.m.] Lexa:**

_ Anya’s staying in tonight, better not. _

**[6:45 p.m.] You:**

_ k _

**[6:46 p.m.] Lexa:**

_ Is everything ok Clarke? _

**[6:46 p.m.] You**

_ Yep, just wted to see if u were up for round 2 😉 _

**[6:50 p.m.] Lexa:**

_ Have a good evening Clarke 🙂. _

**[6:52 p.m.] You:**

_ Damn, ice cold 🥶 _

_ Have a gd evening 2 Lexa _

_ 😘 _

Phone safe in her pocket, Clarke sighs. Guess it’s just her and her demons tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have officialy entered the friends with benefits part of the FWB to Lovers tag :D Clarke and Niylah are also finally going their seperate ways as it's what's the best for both of them! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it! As always feedback is much appreciated! 
> 
> See you on the next one :D


	11. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new case hits close to home for Clarke as Lexa tries to offer help.  
> Raven and Anya enjoy a date night sharing some stories from the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! :D  
> Before anything, I feel like I haven't thanked you all enough for the love for this fic so far, the comments and the kudos or simply reading! It means the world :D
> 
> And now about the chapter, I do wanna warn about Raven dealing with anxiety and feelings of self-doubt as chunck of the chapter focuses on her and her emotions and if anyone is anything like me, sometimes even reading about it might make your anxiety act up so just a heads up :)
> 
> This might actually be one of my favorite chapters I've written so far, I just really love exploring the characters backgrounds and expanding on their relationships! Well, on to the chapter then, hope you enjoy it!

Nightlife in Arkadia is mainly concentrated in the downtown area, just along the lengthy street that seems to end right where Mount Weather starts. There’s nothing too exciting there, at least not as much compared to what a city might provide for nighttime entertainment but the Ark diner, with its after five clientele, is convenient placed right next to the old motel with a broken neon sign and right across from the small convenience store’s parking lot, the place teens across the generations of Arkadia have deemed their designated hang out spot, with its enticing view of the local pub and, consequently, the drunk citizens coming in and out of it, making Arkadia’s cold nights slightly more entertaining than one would expect, particularly when someone who should not be entering the dark pub does so.

As her bike loudly passes by the agglomeration of teenagers laughing and smoking cigarettes they shouldn’t be allowed to buy just outside the small convenience store, Clarke longs for the days where her relationships were nothing more than a shared smoke and an awkward and inexperienced making out session afterwards. Parking right next to the pub where her friends share a drink, Clarke looks up at the old apartments above it, looking for the light of Octavia’s window. Nothing. She sighs, knowing the girl is probably comforting Niylah’s broken heart. A tinge of regret hits the detective as she wishes she had broken up her and Niylah’s arrangement before the girl had gotten so attached. She wonders if that will happen to her with Lexa. Will she also end up heart broken when the heiress moves back to Polis, citing their detached friends with benefits arrangement as the reason for the loss in contact afterwards? Or will Clarke be the one to break another heart before it can hurt hers? 

The inside of the pub is stuffy and loud, normal conversations being spirited by the alcohol and mediocre food. The place still maintains the same decor it did back in the forties with a bizarre mix of nineties technology like the karaoke machine Clarke never saw anyone use and the heavy tv that somehow still manages to play whatever game or news program is on. Raven and Murphy sit at the far corner of the bar and Clarke feels relief wash over her when she confirms that Octavia is not with them; instead the tall figure of Wells accompanies them in joyful laughter. She forces herself to walk towards the small group, as the desire to just go back home and drown her discomfort for the situation by her lonesome tries to entice her back outside.

“Hey.” Clarke greets as she joins them, not before nodding at the bartender for her usual beer. She receives a collective greeting before Raven moves her jacket from the stool next to her, allowing Clarke to sit. The three friends stare at her silently before Murphy speaks up.

“Octavia said she wasn’t coming tonight because of something to do with Niylah. I’m assuming you’re the something she was talking about.” 

Clarke grabs the beer that already sits in front of her and takes a swig of it, staring ahead.

“Yup. I ended things with her.”

“Oh!” Raven comments, surprised.

“Oh.” Clarke echoes, emotionless.

An awkward silence hangs over them as they try to find the words to share with their friend about her former relationship, if they could call it that.

“Well… It’s for the best really.” Wells tries, reaching over to brush her hand in a comforting manner and Clarke presses her lips in a barely there smile.

“Both of you deserve better than whatever that was. I’m proud of you for ending it and allowing both of you to move on from that. I know you probably feel horrible for her right now, but in time she’ll see it was the best, for her especially.” It’s Raven’s time to reassure her, more eloquently than Wells’ awkward try. Clarke is glad for both really, but neither make her feel that much better.

“Is it weird that I would rather all of you blame me and agree that I’m a horrible person for stringing her along?” She admits, a sad but truthful attempt at humor. 

“Oh, Clarke!” Raven exclaims sadly, wrapping her arms around her from the side. Wells reaches over to hold her hand once more while Murphy, in all his inability to show comfort but in an earnest attempt at it, simply rests a hand on the shoulder Raven’s head doesn’t occupy. 

“Octavia’s gonna kill me.” Clarke says, defeated, making the rest of the group guiltily chuckle.

“Oh yeah!” Well agrees, squeezing her hand.

“You’re dead meat Griffin!” Murphy exclaims, a shit eating grin on his face that has Clarke playfully shove his face away.

“Hey!” Raven defends in a fake pout, holding Clarke closer to her and away from the two men, “They’re right thought, I would expect at least a few yelled insults. A slap even.” She whispers into blonde hair between chuckles that quickly causes Clarke to chuckle as well.

“Okay, okay, let’s change the subject, God knows I’ll get enough hell for it tomorrow.” Clarke asks, now feeling just a bit lighter than she did before. For all it’s worth, at least Clarke will always have her friends at the end of the day. 

***

“Don’t feed him that!” Lexa exclaims, walking in the dining room where Anya sits, slowly feeding french fries to Apollo, who waits patiently for the next treat to arrive. Most nights dinner was still eaten in her office either with or without Anya’s company, but her lawyer had slowly convinced her to use the divisions of the mansion she had been ignoring.

“I’m sorry but they are gross. How the hell does a professional chef ruin french fries?! It’s potatoes that you fry! It’s honestly almost genius that he managed that.” Anya defends herself, waving the soggy fry in front of her before it falls to mush between her manicured fingers.

Lexa sighs as she sits herself on the table. She stares at Apollo with a commanding look, causing the dog to whine before it lays down at her feet, no longer allowed to eat the uncooked fries that were so graciously being gifted to him.

“You really need to hire a new cook Lexa, this is just… gross.” Anya lifts her chicken and wiggles it, the nearly burned outside contrasting with the rubbery and pink consistency of the inside. 

Lexa wrinkles her nose at the sight, “I’ll have a talk with him later. Just eat it.” 

Anya huffs and mocks, “Just eat it blah blah.”

The other woman, who had just rested her napkin on her lap stares at her, unamused.

“Mockery is not-”

“The product of a strong mind.” Anya says in unison with her, in an ironically mocking tone, “We were raised with the same doctrine if you recall.” She reminds, hesitantly lifting a piece of the meat to her mouth.

Rolling her eyes, Lexa joins her in silent. But Anya was right. The meal was disgusting. 

“Anyways… I have a date tomorrow, so don’t expect me for dinner.” Anya states, not looking up.

“Oh?” Lexa questions, surprised. Truth is it had been implied that Anya was seeing someone but as her best friend had always been nonchalant about it, Lexa hadn’t touched the subject any longer, assuming Anya would speak up about it when she was ready. Somehow she wasn’t expecting it so soon. Or ever. 

“Yeah, I’m having dinner at her house.” The lawyer’s pretending to be casual about this, but the blush and avoidance of Lexa’s eyes tells her Anya is anything but casual about this date. A smirk creeps on Lexa’s face. She still remembers the endless teasing she suffered from her once Costia had finally asked her out all those years ago and Lexa had sworn it meant nothing other than a casual friendly date. Somehow, she finds it in herself not to give Anya the same treatment. 

“May I ask who she is?” She asks instead, unable to contain all her curiosity.

Anya finally looks up at her and Lexa has to put in the effort not to laugh at the forced blasé look her friend shows as a strong blush creeps through her pretty features.

“It’s hum…” Anya tries, and Lexa bites her lip to hide her smirk, “Remember that detective I told about, Raven Reyes?” Lexa nods once, “Yeah, it’s her.”

Lexa stares as her friend's casual façade falls and wonders for the second time if she had ever seen Anya truly even liking someone in a not so casual way. She’s happy for her, if anyone deserves to find love is Anya. Her family has a long history of having more marriages of convenience than those of love as it was very obviously illustrated by the woman’s parents who, from what Lexa had heard as a child, had just barely stopped fighting and cheating long enough to conceive an heir both knew was one hundred percent theirs. And with that Lexa remembers a small detail.

“Wait, I though you said I shouldn’t try and fuck a detective.” 

It’s a playful accusation, and Lexa dares herself to feel pride as she had completely ignored her lawyer’s instruction, something she didn’t do often. Although, one could say a detective fucked her more than she fucked her, but Lexa was never one to worry about insignificant details.

“Okay, first of all, I have yet to fuck any detective! Well, at least properly.” She adds in a wink mind-sentence that makes Lexa’s eyes roll, “Second, I’m not the CEO of a multimillionaire company, you are, and you know very well why you shouldn’t be fucking any agent of the law.” Anya responds. A sudden wave of guilt shakes Lexa as she’s reminded of why she should not be involved with Clarke, but she refuses to let it consume her. Lexa simply throws her hands in the air, surrendering.

“Besides, you clearly don’t need the detective, if biker girl is anything to go by.” Anya adds, nonchalantly.

The heiress feels her whole body becoming hot with embarrassment. Clarke’s bike had still been sitting outside when Anya went out to grab coffee, the detective probably parked it right in front of the house, not predicting how the night would end for the both of them. Oh, if only Anya knew how the biker girl and the detective weren’t two mutually exclusive people.

“Good, now that we are both equally flushed, we can end the conversation.” 

The statement has Lexa snapping out of her embarrassment.

“I just wanted to know about your love life! You know, like normal friends do! You didn’t need to be an ass and turn the conversation to me!” Lexa nearly shouts, voice a pitch too high. 

Anya laughs at this.

“You put yourself right in the spot for me to rattle you, sorry, I had to.” The woman states, getting up. She grabs her plate still half full and brings it to the floor, making a show of calling Lexa’s dog to eat it, a call Apollo doesn’t hesitate to answer, “But, for what’s worth, I’m glad you have someone. Am I right to assume that biker girl is also text messages girl?” Lexa lowers her eyes but nods. “Seems things sorted themselves out between you two then.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask me who she is?” Not that Lexa would reveal Clarke’s identity, but Anya’s lack of curiosity is always suspicious.

“Would you tell me if I asked?” Her tone is skeptical, and Lexa sometimes forgets how much this woman knows her even when she tries to hide herself.

“Probably not. At least, not at the moment.”

Anya’s face turns into an amused smile, “Thought so.”

“Dick.” The heiress mumbles before raising her eyes at Anya, “Can I meet her? Raven, I mean.” Lexa can’t say she doesn’t have ulterior motives for wanting to meet the girl she knows to be Clarke’s best friend, but the core want of it truly is so she can get to know the woman who seems to get Anya flustered for the first time in her life.

Frowning, Anya looks at her with a shit eating grin, “Not at the moment, no _._ ” 

“You make it so hard to be pleasant to you.” 

“But you love me anyways!”

"My love is not a well with no end."

Rolling her eyes, Anya leaves the room but not before whispering a audieble "Christ!"

***

The ticking of the clock on the wall is making Clarke’s hand sweat more and more. In their respective desks, Clarke can see both Raven and Murphy pretend to be busy with e-mails and leftover paperwork, but she can feel the anticipation coming out of them too. The three of them seem to have arrived earlier, maybe hoping that Octavia would already be there, and they could get over with the yelling match before they were on the clock but no such luck. Octavia has yet to show up now ten minutes after arrival time. Clarke tries to distract herself by drumming her pen on her desk, but the action seems to annoy her teammates.

“Will you stop that?!” Murphy’s the first one to snap and Clarke lets go of the blue pen immediately. 

“Sorry.” She apologizes, sighing.

“Clarke, it’ll be fine. I’m sure she understands.” Raven tries to reassure from across her, but Clarke knows that she doesn’t believe her own words.

“I wouldn’t count on that” Her partner remarks, earning himself a crumpled piece of paper to the head.

“Not helping, Murphy!” Raven reprimands him but her attention is mainly on Clarke’s nervousness, “Look, I’m sure she’ll- Oh God, she’s here.” 

Clarke turns quickly in her chair to look at the youngest member of the squad. She seems exceptionally calm. That can’t be good. Octavia was predictable. Yes, she was prone to outbursts of passion, but one could always predict them. Calm was unpredictable. Calm was dangerous.

“Good morning everyone.” The girl greets and the three detectives respond with prudence as if they were scared to waken a beast. Their eyes follow as Octavia slowly rests her backpack against her chair and carelessly takes off her jacket and beany, starting her computer as she reaches into her pocket to release her phone from its enclosure and then, she turns to Clarke.

“Can I talk to you?” 

Clarke shares a concerned look with Raven, who wordlessly urges her to go on.

“Hm, sure.” The detective tries to keep herself collected but avoids too much cheeriness, scared that could be the breaking point.

“Not here, in the break room is better.” Octavia nods towards the small room at the far back of the precinct and Clarke wonders if the police department would cover for Octavia if the baby of the family that basically ran this station for generations murdered her colleague in cold blood inside the building. Scared something worse than murder might happen if she refuses, Clarke simply nods and follows the younger girl inside.

“She’s dead.” Murphy comments as soon as the two woman are out of earshot.

“She’s so fucking dead.” Raven agrees with a sigh, eyes glued to the closing door.

Octavia waits for Clarke to enter the room before closing the door behind them, so slowly Clarke would consider it ominous. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and reheated leftovers that never really leaves the microwaves next to the buzzing fridge assaults Clarke’s nose. In an attempt to seem more approachable, the blonde tries a more opened posture, hands lazily on her hips as she waits for Octavia to speak. This turns out to be a rookie mistake as she leaves her face completely open for Octavia’s hand to connect with her cheek hard and fast, making Clarke yelp and leaving a crimson mark on it for posterity, no doubt. Yet, it’s not the slap that shocks Clarke as she was already anticipating some level of violence towards herself. No, what shocks Clarke to her core is Octavia wrapping her arms around her and squeezing her into a hug. In her shock, Clarke nearly forgets to hug back. 

They stand there for what feels like half an hour, but she’s sure it was no more than a minute. Come to think of it, she cannot remember hugging Octavia for more than a few seconds and those were always on celebratory occasions.

“Thank you.” Octavia says into the hug and Clarke’s stunned mind has a hard time making sense of her words.

“For letting you slap me?” She questions, not sure what else she could be thanking her for.

“No.” The younger woman replies, finally releasing Clarke from her grasp, “I mean, yes but it’s not like you could have avoided it,” There’s a hint of smirk in her voice, “But I mean, thank you for ending things with Niylah. Like, I’m still fucking pissed at you for hurting her and I’ll definitely ignore you for a few days after we’re done here but… She needed it. God, I’ve been trying to convince her to stop going over every time you called but she kept saying that as long as you wanted to, she would be there. But now that you don’t, well, she can finally move on.” 

Clarke remains silent in response. Octavia’s words should hurt. Really, they should, they just confirm that Clarke could have prevented a lot of pain for Niylah, and herself, if she had just ended things long before yesterday. But maybe she had been attached too. They both needed this to be over and somehow, Octavia’s honesty makes her feel the relief that Raven and Wells’ well meaning words had been unable to. 

“And now you can move on too.” Octavia adds as a closing line, a glimpse of how her worry was not only directed at Niylah but at her too. She wonders what Octavia would say if she found out she had moved on to a similar arrangement as the one with Niylah. She wondered what she would say if she told her that with this one, she doesn’t feel at all like she did before, even when her and Niylah had just started fooling around; how much freer and lighter Clarke feels about it, happier even.

“We should go back.” Octavia comments, pointing in the directions of the bullpen through the closed door, “Well, I should. You should try and get some cold water on that actually.” Her finger moves from the door to Clarke’s face, prompting the older woman to raise her hand to her still hot face.

“Yeah, I should, it’s kinda hurting…” Clarke moves to the sink right away, glad for the coldness of the water that runs through the pipes for the first time in her life. 

“Thank fucking god, I spent the whole night dreaming of it really hurting you.” Clarke turns around at the confession, insulted, but her expression does nothing to shake Octavia’s smirk before she turns around without another word and exits the break room, leaving Clarke to nurse her pained face by herself.

As she finally exits the room a good five minutes later, Clarke feels Raven’s eyes on her, making sure there’s no limbs or patches of hair missing and, although her eyes widen as the faded red mark on Clarke’s cheek becomes visible, she seems pleased to see her best friend still remains whole. The detective is just about to take her place back on her desk when the Captain exists his office, pausing briefly when he notices Clarke’s red face but making no comment to it and Clarke assumes Octavia shared some of her intentions with her brother and she might even have Bellamy to thank for not living through the embarrassment of being slapped in front of the whole station.

“The clinic was just robbed by a handful of armed individuals.” He announces to the group, eyeing each one for their reactions. Clarke’s face is the first one to fall, followed closely behind by Raven’s.

“Is everyone okay?” Clarke questions in a controlled frenzy. The clinic was her mother’s pride and joy and she spent her days there from sunrise to sundown, even before Clarke’s father passed. There was absolutely no way she hadn’t been there when it happened.

The older man looks down at his notes just to confirm what he already knows, “No injured reported, just a few spooked nurses. I need the four of you there, it seems they took some meds, money and damaged some property.” He closes his pad unceremoniously, “Move.” And with that, he disappears back into his office. 

The clinic is one of the newest building in Arkadia, built with the help of some big shot doctors her mother had met in Polis General Hospital some twenty years ago. Clarke was rather young when it all happened, but she still remembers visiting the construction sight and walking the empty halls with her mother as she told her how much this place was going to change the lives of the people of Arkadia. Truthfully, it had, especially when it came to the bigger and better natal and pediatrics wing that provided a place for the parents of Arkadia to go without the long journey to Polis. As the need for the clinic grew more and more, so did its staff and equipment. But now, as the population of Arkadia lessens, it has started to see its fair share of difficulties as her mother was always keen of reminding Clarke. 

As soon as they arrive, the cop stationed at the entrance lifts the police tape that barricades the entrance of the clinic, “This way, detectives” He states, bringing them inside. 

A shiver goes through Clarke’s body as she looks around. Some damage was a light way of putting it. It looked like a tornado went through the place. Broken chairs, ripped posters, graffitied walls, trash everywhere. In the middle of it all stands Harper, the clinic’s receptionist, her pregnant belly sticking out front of her, staring at the floor with tears in her eyes, as if to try and make sense of the mess around her. Last time Clarke saw her, she had the same tears hurrying down her face as she cried in the arms of her groom at her wedding, happier ones that time around she hopes.

Clarke approaches her gently “Hi Harper…”

At the sound of her name, the girl looks up, still sniffling, “Clarke!”

“Hey. You feeling okay?” She questions, raising a hand to the girl’s arm and rubbing it, comfortingly. 

“I’m just a bit shook I guess…” the girl looks around herself and a sob exists her body, arms coming to lay protectively around her unborn child, “What are we gonna do Clarke?! Look at this place!” 

The detective sighs, taking another look around the place. It definitely didn’t look good. 

“Harper, Raven is going to ask you a few questions okay? And after that we’ll let you go home. Have you called Monty already?” 

Harper nods and Clarke gives her one last friendly arm rub before leaving her in Raven’s hands. She moves around the clinic with ease, knowing every corner of it like the back of her hand. As she moves deeper she sees name plaques that usually rest on the wall next to the doors ripped to the floor and doors that show signs of being kicked in without mercy. From what Clarke understands the whole ordeal took place in the span of only an hour and she tries to wrap her mind around how people can be so cruel to the point of not only robbing but needing to destroy the place after themselves. The sight nearly makes her miss the burned body in the barn. Her foot steps on something and Clarke moves it away to see what it is. Doctor Abigail Griffin. Without realizing her mind had started to wander while her feet walked her through familiar halls. Looking to her left she finds an opened door where her mother sits at her desk, head shaking in disbelief in her hands. Behind her trying to comfort her stands Marcus Kane, her mother’s partner in the administrative side of things and her dad’s former best friend. 

“Mom?” Clarke announces her presence softly, feeling like she’s intruding in on a private moment. She knows her mother and Kane are close, or at least, they were until her father’s death. Then her mother threw herself at work and Kane stopped coming by to check on Clarke. She would blame him for forgetting about her like everyone else did if she hadn’t already placed all the blame for that on her mother.

“Clarke, honey! Oh!” Abby jumps out of her seat and throws her arms around her daughter, her whole body shaking. Clarke is slow to wrap her arms around her mother as she tries to keep the feelings of jealousy for the affection her mother has for this clinic but didn’t have for her when she needed it. 

Clarke unwraps herself from her mother and rolls her shoulders back, trying her best to return to her detective mind, “Mom, we’re gonna need to ask you a few questions okay? Kane?” She looks at the man that stands looking at both women behind her mother’s desk, “You’ll come with me. Murphy will be here shortly to question you,” Clarke now refers to her mom, who instantly opens her mouth to protest, “We’re related, it’s just policy, he needs to be the one to do it.” And with that, Clarke gestures for Kane to follow her out of the room and steps out of it herself. Her eyebrows narrow as Kane gently places a kiss on Abby’s forehead, a gesture more intimate than she had ever seen them share, but the moment quickly escapes her mind as she starts her mission to find out who was behind all of this.

***

The white board stares at the detectives mockingly. The thieves had been anything but careful as security cameras showed none of them bothered to wear anything to protect their fingerprints from being all over the place. But like theirs, dozens of other fingerprints also adorned the whole clinic as the past few weeks had been quite busy given the total population of the town. Flu season was at its peak and with it, visits to the doctors had become frequent for almost everyone. As the end of their shift approaches the group decides to turn in on time, looking at things with fresh eyes the next morning. 

“Drinks tonight?” Clarke offers as they start to exit the building. 

“No.” Octavia’s negation of the invite is quick and offers no other explanation and no one demands one either and without a goodbye, the youngest one starts walking to her car.

“Sorry Griffin, the missus wants me home tonight!” Murphy explains, in an apologetic tone. Those who might not know him would believe he was genuinely sad for not hanging out with his friends. Those who do know for a fact a night at home with his wife is Murphy’s favorite kind of night. 

Raven and Clarke wave him goodbye as they walk to their respective vehicles parked side by side.

“Guess it's just me and you!” Clarke exclaims, looking at Raven expectantly. 

Raven offers her an apologetic smile as she opens the door to her car, “Sorry hot stuff, I have a date actually.” 

The other woman gasps, exaggeratedly, “You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone.”

Raven shrugs her shoulders, dismissively. Clarke had been having a rough couple of weeks when it came to relationships, from the sudden disappearance of mystery girl to the climax and consequent end of her relationship with Niylah and Raven just hadn’t found the right timing in the midst of all of it to tell her about the, frankly, abrupt relationship she had develop with the enticing lawyer who seemed to suddenly be everywhere she went. 

“It’s still fairly new.” She admits, chuckling nervously. Because she is, fucking nervous. Although Anya had already spent a few nights at her house, this time felt more intimate and real, the hastily fooling around they had been doing so far feeling more like a simple hook up than anything more serious.

“Do you like them?” Clarke questions, gently. There’s a caring smile on her face, one that’s ever so present every time the two friends discuss anything more intimate.

“Yes, I do. A lot.” Raven admits, smiling big. 

They had both dealt with their loss of Finn in different ways. After spending a night together and deciding to forget about it, Clarke had found someone more exclusive to sleep with right away, while Raven had instead divided her attention between multiple men, some closer to her, some complete strangers. It had seemed like a good way to bury the pain at the time, but she always avoided a second date or any chance to deepen any sort of relationship. The betrayal of being cheated on for the entire duration of her relationship without realizing had taken a toll on Raven’s self-esteem that didn’t seem to exist in Clarke. Her childhood had taught her not to trust people and Finn had made her feel like she could learn to trust once more, only to have that shattered to pieces. But somehow Anya had been so quick to sweep Raven off her feet, it almost didn’t feel real.

“Good.” Clarke finally says, seeming happy with Raven’s response, “I won’t probe you for more right now but be sure they know that if they hurt you I’ll kick their ass!” She threatens, putting her helmet on. 

Raven chuckles as she opens the door of her car, “I’ll warn her.” Throwing her bag inside, she turns to Clarke for a final goodbye just as the woman’s phone buzzes with a new message, “Sorry that you have to hang out alone tonight.” She knows after the whole ordeal at the clinic and Octavia’s morning slap, Clarke would most likely spend the night in the company of a beer. 

Looking up from her phone, Clarke shrugs her shoulders, a contained smile adorning her face, “Don’t worry about it.”, the girl starts the engine and starts to pull away before turning one last time to the brunette, “Have fun on your date!” And with that, she’s off.

Her stomach twists the whole way home and more than once Raven nearly reaches for her phone to cancel on Anya with a random excuse, but every time she stops midway through searching for the lawyer’s number. Her therapist says she has attachment issues from early childhood abuse, her venture with Finn having only worsened them. Then there was the whole shooting that nearly killed her and removed her from active duty for nearly a year. Her left leg is slowly healing but it will never be the same as it was before, and Raven has come to make her peace with that. But it still hurts, and it’s still another piece of the puzzle that makes her feel like she’s unlovable. This is not something she shares with others. To her friends, she’s a bundle of positivity, facing her problems head on. Clarke knows more than others, but Raven knows that the same way Clarke will hide her demons away from her, Raven does the same. There are many unspoken things they know about one another that would be too painful to say aloud. Raven’s abusive mother, Clarke’s neglect, Finn’s death; they never mention it but they both know it’s part of one another. 

The digital clock she keeps in her kitchen beeps annoyingly as seven p.m. arrives. Wiping her hands on the dish cloth that rests on her shoulder, Raven checks her pan one last time before turning it off. The glass of wine that sits on the table shows evidence that she had at least one full glass before her guest’s arrival and Raven contemplates washing it as to not reveal her need for a drink to calm her nerves. Their dates had been casual so far, at the diner or another few local spots Raven was unfamiliar with, as it seemed Anya had taken time to explore this little town of theirs. She stares at herself in the mirror. Should she have dressed fancier? Anya was always dressed fancy, heels, designer suits, manicured nails, the whole nine-yards. Maybe a dress would be better, if she even owns one of those anymore, a vague memory of throwing away anything that could show her bare legs in a blind rage. 

She’s still toying with the ideas of what she should do before Anya arrives when the sound of the doorbell rings throughout the house. As she opens the door, Raven is greeted with a whole bouquet of colorful flowers that quickly brings a smile to her face, although the woman holding them is the one at fault for its transformation into a full grin.

“Hello Anya!” Raven greets, managing to control the shake of her voice. As always the other woman looks impeccable, not a string of hair out of place, always quite the feat considering Arkadia’s weather, “C’mon in.”

Anya steps inside, “Thanks,” and instead of a verbal greeting she bends down, she places a whisper of a kiss on the girl’s cheek, smirking as she does so. 

Blushing, Raven looks around for an escape from the closeness “I’ll go find a jar to put these in. Make yourself at home, you already know the place.” She urges, gesturing to the living room.

Anya takes a few steps towards the room before turning around, “I bought wine too.” She says, lifting the dark bottle in her hand. 

“Oh, set it on the table for me?” Raven requests, moving with hurried steps to the kitchen. Once inside, she takes advantage of the blind spot the corner of the kitchen offers from the pass through window, dumping the flowers in a tall glass she fills with water while taking a breather; she feels silly thinking about how she doesn’t own a single flower jar. For a second she contemplates bringing the flowers to the table but is quick to decide against it. It felt like an insult to bring the undoubtedly expensive flowers out inside a thrift store glass cup to the table. 

“Raven, do you need help in there?” Anya’s voice asks from the living room. 

“No need, thank you, I’ll be right out with dinner.” Raven responds as calmly as she can, controlling her breathing. It takes a moment to realize she’s on the brink of a panic attack. She’s quick to go over what her and her therapist have dictated works better to deescalate an attack for her. She drinks a glass of water and allows time for her body to calm itself down, eyes closed, as she repeats small mantras to herself. Raven hates those, but she has slowly learned to control them. They no longer wake her up in the middle of the night or force her to run to the bathroom in the middle of the day, sometimes during case talks, just so she can cry and calm down. 

“I’m pouring you a glass of the wine okay?” 

“Ok.” The simple agreement takes all her strength to get out as Raven feels the dread in her stomach slowly fade away. She repeats the mantras again. There are times when Raven finds them stupid and unnecessary but that she must admit have helped her before.

_This feeling will pass._

_I am not a burden._

_I am worthy of love. I am worthy of being loved._

With one final exhale, Raven pushes herself off the counter and turns to the stove where the food she spent way too long fuzzing over still rests. Slowly training a smile back on her face, the detective turns around and is off the kitchen.

“Food's served!” 

Anya stands next to Raven’s glass cabinet, a hand in her pocket while the other holds a glass of wine like it was made to always be there, admiring the things inside. The cabinet shows nothing special, just the small collection of awards Raven has collected over the years. As a younger kid she had wished she had been allowed to display them, but her mom would accuse her of trying to rub how smart she was in her face, as if Raven wanted anything else other than her mother’s pride for her. 

“Those are just tokens of when I was in school, they're not particularly interesting.” The girl explains, modestly. While yes, most awards and ribbons show her natural inclination for the exact sciences, one even awarding her on a national level for a robotics contest she participated in back in high school, nothing ever came out of it. 

“I find them more than intriguing actually.” Anya disputes, turning around to look at her host, “You won a math triathlon?” 

Raven fights back her initial urge to be defensive, knowing the lawyer did not mean it in a mocking manner. In fact, this woman seems genuinely interested in her middle school conquers. 

“I was in seventh grade and had nothing better to do.” Raven shrugs, focusing back on the food. Anya takes the hint and starts to move to the table, drinking the last of her glass of wine. 

“Were you ever planning on telling me you were an undiscovered genius?” 

Raven serves the both of them a generous amount of pasta before answering.

“It’s just a couple of silly awards, it’s not like they ever took me anywhere.” Raven admits, feeling her defenses for her past building. 

“Why didn’t you pursue any of it? Math, chemistry, physics. You’re the whole package.” Anya compliments, smirking but Raven doesn’t seem to catch it. For all of Anya’s gentlewomaness, she had also grown up on the other side of Polis that Raven had and could probably never understand what it meant to have to settle for a less than brighter future.

“College was too expensive, and scholarships were hard to come by when you’re excelling at Math but failing English class.” She shouldn’t feel this defensive about it but Raven dislikes thinking about what could have been if only her mother had been as rich as she was abusive.

Anya seems to sense the tension and tries to swiftly move on from it.

“This is great!” Her companion compliments after an initial bite into the food, no doubt sensing the discomfort in Raven, “You’re a wonderful cook.” 

The younger woman smiles cheaply, “It was just an online recipe that seemed easy enough, I didn’t change anything at all.” She’s deflecting the compliments before she can catch herself. It’s one of the things Raven’s working on. Fake confidence it’s easier to show around those she has now the longest, but the fear of seeming too full of herself to others keeps her from allowing any honest compliment to go by undenied. 

Anya shakes her head in disagreement, “I know professional chefs who couldn’t cook even if the instructions were implanted into their brains so, believe me when I say that this is heavenly!” and as to drive the point home, she takes another bite, humming in pleasure as it enters her mouth. 

In response Raven lets herself simply smile and, although not convinced, she allows the compliment to slide, if for nothing else than because of Anya’s charming ways. It feels nearly impossible for this woman not to have someone in her life. Raven knows Anya shares TonDC Mansion with the Trikru Heiress, someone she had only seen from afar but after a quick google search has became obvious how beautiful she was, although Anya had shut down any of her fears and doubts early on, reinjuring her of how Alexandria was a sister to her in everything except blood first and her employer second. And a pain in the ass third.

“Have you always wanted to be a lawyer?” Raven tries to bring the conversation back around to something easier as she tries to erase the thoughts that cloud her mind with doubt.

Anya shrugs her shoulder dismissively.

“If you ask my younger self she would tell you she wanted to be a fierce warrior who protects a princess. I guess lawyer is the more boring way to go about it.” 

Raven can’t help but to squint her eyes.

“Okay, now the real answer.” She demands, a smile on her lips that is quickly mirrored by Anya.

“It’s the family trait. In some families you inherit an ugly vase, in mine you inherit an unwanted law degree.” Anya talks about it in a jovial tone, no resentment to be seen in her forced career choice. 

Raven nods and wonders what’s like to have your future picked out for you even before you’re born. In a way, she can relate. From the moment she was brought into the world there weren’t many expectations for her to ascend to anything greater than what she was born into. There was still hope back then though, hope she would one day grow up and become an engineer, make a difference in the world. But Raven has learnt that all fantasies come to an end and that the world isn’t kind to people who can’t buy it.

But the thoughts of her lack of choice in careers quickly gets overpowered by the itch in her brain she can’t scratch away on her own. Before she can help it, the words are out of her mouth.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything.” Anya replies smiling. A toothy smile that has Raven hand reach for the wine to stop herself from blushing.

“How many exes do you have?” 

There’s a second where Anya nearly chokes on her food and Raven wonders what possessed her to ask such a question out loud.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I asked that. Jesus…”

Waving Raven’s worries away with her hand, Anya rests the glass of wine on the table after a few coughs.

“It’s fine, we talked about how being honest was important for the both of us, so I’ll answer.” Anya allows herself a pause, studying Raven before continuing, “Including non-exclusive ones?” 

Raven doesn’t see what different exclusive or not exclusive makes, “Sure.” 

“One.” It’s all she states.

A laugh escapes Raven, “Okay, sure.” She doesn’t even try to hide the skepticism in her voice. So much for honesty.

“Raven, I mean it.” Anya’s confident aura seems to shift, a nervousness entering it, afraid Raven won’t believe her. 

Raven does. Even if it seems impossible someone like Anya only ever dated one person. That she only once made someone fall in love with her. Was it a great love? The one that got away? Was Raven the second chance at love that could never come close to the magic of the first one?

“Was she in the exclusive or non-exclusive category?” 

“Non-exclusive.” 

Relief washes over Raven’s anxious and overt-thinking mind. 

“It was barely a relationship really. I don’t seem to be big on commitment.” 

Raven breathing thickens, “And yet, here you are.”

“And yet, here I am.” Anya repeats, staring Raven in the eyes. 

There’s a brief silence between them, one Raven’s mind takes to pose questions and answer them in the next second without letting her process them. _She’s here because of you._

“Can I ask you about him?” 

Anya’s voice is gentle and tentative. They both know who the _him_ is. And she’ll be fine if Raven doesn’t answer, but something compels her to anyways.

“Okay.”

“You’ve told me before it ended badly and that he broke your heart. What does that mean?”

Raven closes her eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. She doesn’t talk about Finn to almost anyone. Not even with Clarke. She finds it hard to share it with her therapist too. But something in her trusts Anya right away, something that has become so unnatural to Raven.

“He cheated. And then he died.” That’s it. That’s all he did. He cheated and then up and died on her without giving her a chance to demand an explanation from him.

Eyes widened in shock, Anya starts to frantically apologize, “Raven, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” Raven interrupts the girl’s unnecessary apology, “I’m fine. Well… Not fine but I’m getting there. We just avoid talking about him for the most part.”

“We?” Anya questions, head tilting to the side. 

Raven stares at her wine glass, moving the liquid around, “Me and Clarke.”

"I'm sorry, I don't follow." 

Turning her attention back to the lawyer, Raven explains. 

“Clarke was the other woman.” 

Anya’s face changes and Raven can tell she’s about to accuse her of being friends with the woman who wrecked her relationship.

“She didn’t know either.”

“Didn't you say your ex worked with you?” 

At the question, Raven chuckles, humorlessly. The bastard had managed to date both of his co-workers without one another’s knowledge somehow. She feels so stupid about it sometimes. All her genius and intelligence and she couldn’t see what was right under her nose.

“Yup. Bellamy, our captain, he isn’t the biggest fan of staff engaging in romantic relationships with one another.” The speech Bellamy had given plays her in her mind as she remembers his exact wording, “Finn used that as an excuse to keep both relationships a secret from work and from anyone on the team. Hell of a fucking con he pulled.” Raven scoffs at the end, renewed anger at the boy’s deception and manipulation of both her and her friend. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. You deserve much better than being treated like that.” Anya’s comforting hand rests on top of hers, shaking her out of her momentary anger. It’s so easy for Raven’s minds to twist the events and make it seem what happened, happened because she deserved to suffer somehow. Somehow, when Anya said it, Raven could feel herself believing it. Cheeks burning red again, Raven gets up, starting to gather the dishes now empty of food.

Seeing Raven’s attempt at cleaning alone, Anya gets up, immediately gathering the remaining dishes. As she reaches for the pan, Raven tries to stop her, but the girl quickly dismisses her, “I’ll help you with that, you cooked, it’s the least I can do.”

Dishwasher running, both women retrieved themselves to the couch, newly filled wine glasses in hand. Truth be told, Raven wasn’t the biggest fan of the drink. She had grown up with beer and whiskey, never acquiring the taste for the fermented grapes. Maybe it was the company that made the drink. So far, both were delicious.

Or maybe she was just starting to get a little buzzed.

“Can I ask one last question? You don’t need to answer at all.” 

Raven gives her small reassuring smile. It’s obvious Anya is still curious about her past relationship. Not morbidly curious, although Rave supposes she would be fine if that was the case. 

“I’m sure I’ll answer. Ask away.” Raven urges, taking another sip of the wine. She needed to remember to ask Anya about the brand on a later date.

“Why do you and hum-” “-Clarke-” “-Right. Clarke. Why do you two avoid talking about him? I suppose it wouldn’t be easy to talk about what he did to both of you, but doesn’t avoiding it make it worse?” 

It’s a hard question to answer, but Raven smiles despite it. There’s a hint of worry behind the question, like Anya fears the avoidance of the topic might hurt her and Clarke’s friendship. It’s sweet. Anya’s sweet.

“He died on the job.” Raven admits. She readjusts herself on the couch, trying to relay the events without dread swallowing her whole. Sometimes, she’ll think about it and feels like she’s there all over again, learning about his death for the very first time. Other times, she’s floating above the scene as if it is happening in a movie, a parallel dimension, to someone she doesn’t know. And, on the rare occasion, it just plays out like any other memory. No emotion, just another piece of her life that has come and gone. “Him and Clarke were partners at the time, and they were sent in the middle of a fake deal to arrest this guy, Dax something, he had been responsible for the main drug supply coming into Arkadia. Come to find out, Finn kind of had a third mistress, cocaine. The dude recognized him and shot him dead on the spot. It was instant. Clarke saw the whole thing and it hit her pretty hard. We had just found out about him playing us both that day. It felt like too much to talk about, so we just never did.” Raven ends with a shrug. She feels weirdly okay after relaying the story and there’s a sadness that seems to come with that realization, but she swallows it down with the last drops of her wine.

There’s a small silence after that where Anya seems to be focusing on the empty space beyond Raven’s head, digesting the whole tale. Her face is calm and studied but hazel eyes seem to be filled with an angered sadness she can’t hide. Yet, the protectiveness they show as they focus back on Raven is what has the detective speaking up.

“I feel like we keep killing the mood with my dead ex talk.” Raven chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. But Anya doesn’t seem to wish for a humorous mood, if the small biting of her lower lip is any indication. 

“For what’s worth,” Anya begins, moving closer to Raven. The detective can’t help but take the woman’s beautiful face in as she approaches, eyes falling to pink lips as a final destination. God, she was gorgeous. “I have no intention of _ever_ treating you like you're worth anything less than the world.”

The words barely register as Raven’s brain tries not to short-circuit with Anya’s perfume surrounding her. But the message goes through clear as day. Anya isn’t here to hurt her or deceive her. Lacking an answer that doesn’t sound lame, Raven smiles bright.

“Raven, can I kiss you?”

Raven blinks once, twice, thrice. The question stunts her for a bit before the feeling of safety envelops her and without any more words, she’s closing the space between her and Anya’s face. Unlike the last times, where kisses were playful and flirty, this one feels heavy with passion and hope. Raven hadn’t had hope for so long.

“Do you want to spend the night?” Raven shily asks, slowly pulling away from the kiss. She finds the shyness uncharacteristic of herself. But Anya makes her feel a different version of herself she had not seen in a long while. One that yearns and wants without guilt or doubt. 

“I would be delighted to.” And with that eloquent answer, Raven is lifted gently, clear attention to any rough movement on leg, soft lips on hers once more.

***

TonDC mansion has a way of making Clarke feel like she’s floating on a cloud. The old walls, the tall ceiling, the giant windows, the enormous room, the king size bed, the soft sheets. The warm body wrapped in her arms. If she closes her eyes and focuses hard enough she swears she can hear the sounds and voices from a century ago, walking about the house. But quickly the whispered Mid-Atlantic accented voices shift to robotic and static voices coming from intercoms, muffled sobs and pieces of broken medical equipment being picked up and thrown out. 

The bed shifts and a groan accompanies the movement. 

“You have to learn to be gentler when deciding to back me to the door,” next to her, Lexa complains, as she tries to find a position that makes her pain feel lighter.

Clarke chuckles, her mind barely in the moment “Where’s the fun in that?” But despite her words, she still places a kiss on the girls bare back, just above the first minimalistic planet that makes up the girls back tattoo. 

At first, Clarke had merely glanced over Lexa’s inked back. Although still a surprise to find the black marking going all the way down the woman’s back, she had been too busy thinking about different body parts to pay close attention to the minimal interpretation of the solar system that runs down Lexa’s spine. It was beautiful, simple yet intricate work. A contradiction, much like Lexa herself.

Lexa sighs as warm lips touch her skin and Clarke’s glad she doesn’t have any particular interest in discussing Clarke’s need to reduce her roughness. That’s a fight Clarke refuses to lose. 

“Clarke?” Lexa whispers, maybe suspecting Clarke might have already fallen asleep.

“Hm?” 

Lexa turns, sheet wrapped tightly around her and Clarke can’t stop but finds it cute how the heiress will become modest as soon as the act is done, acting as if Clarke hadn’t just spent the good part of an hour going over every single curve of her body with her mouth.

“You seem… preoccupied.”

The shared thought is received with slight confusion. The worried tone of it catches Clarke by surprise as she expected Lexa to wish for a more distant relationship. The type where you kind of care if they’re sick but not enough to do much more than wish a ‘get well soon’ and never follow up. But then again, she supposes the _friends_ in friends with benefits still holds some weight. 

“It’s nothing, work is just stressful right now.” It’s not a lie at all but it’s also not the complete truth. Sharing is not Clarke’s strong suit. It’s so much easier to give a half-truth and move on from it.

No words leave Lexa in response, but her green eyes still search the detective’s face. She knows she’s not telling the whole truth. Clarke always prided herself in being a hard book to read, even if she wears her heart on her sleeve when she does wish for others to openly read her. But Lexa seems to see beyond all of that. 

“You’re not telling the whole truth.” Lexa finally confirms. 

“You’re really pretty in this lighting.” Clarke hopes deflecting the statement will make it go away.

“Clarke-”

With a heavy sigh, Clarke decides to share her worries, “My mom’s clinic was robbed. It was already struggling before and now there might be a chance that it’ll actually close because of lack of funding and my mom is wrecked because of it.” Saying it out loud seems to make the actuality of the situation much more real than it already was.

“And you worry about this affecting your mother?” Lexa’s pushes, voice soft and caring, making Clarke feel like she could tell her all her life’s troubles without a second thought. 

“That’s half of it.” She confesses, “This clinic is like the thing that’s keeping younger people in Arkadia. Even with no school, it has great kid’s doctors, not to mention all the other stuff. If it goes under, I don’t think that even that fancy brand new elementary school of yours will keep people here long enough to see it finished.”

Clarke worries for her town, for the people who can’t afford to move away. Polis is an expensive city and most only know a home at the quiet uneventful base of the mountain. 

“Is there anything I can do? I can donate the money if they wish to.” 

Clarke rubs her eyes at the offer, not enjoying the thought of Lexa suddenly buying all of Arkadia’s problems away.

“No- Just- Lexa, I’m not gonna ask you to just give your money away, especially not when the reason why you know about it it's because I’m here.”

“It’s for the clinic, not for you.” Lexa seems offended at the insinuation she’s only offering the money because they are sleeping together. 

Shaking her head, Clarke tries to show her that’s not what she means at all.

“No. My mom won’t just accept money like that. She always worked hard for whatever she got, and she hates handouts.” 

Lexa seems puzzled by the refusal, still not believing whatever excuse Clarke gives her, “So, you would both rather see the clinic go to bankruptcy than to accept my money?”

A strand of brown hair falls over Lexa’s face as she speaks, giving Clarke an opportunity to touch her just to brush it away, her hand finding a resting place on the warmth of her cheeks as Lexa instinctively closes her eyes at the motion, soothing the slight tension that has risen in the room for a second.

“Look, Lexa, don’t take this the wrong way but you can’t come here and start throwing money at everything thinking you’re gonna go and save the poor little small town people from misery. The school is a nice gesture but even then, people here are always suspicious of it. Corruption is so fucking frequent around here, people don’t take kindly to some big city girl heiress getting here out of nowhere, taking residency in one of the towns landmarks and then just start working with the mayor to open a new school.” 

Despite Clarke’s initial warning, Lexa clearly takes the accusation to heart.

“I never meant for it to look like I have ulterior motives Clarke. My father liked this town and knew some of the people in power back when. He had promised he would help it in any way he could, but he died before he could see it to fruition. As a dying wish, he made me conduct his promise of coming here and assure the construction of the school. I wish no harm to this town nor do I wish to appear as a spoiled rich girl who’s throwing money to fix problems. I truly just want to help.”

With another sigh, Clarke reaches out to Lexa’s lips, gently bringing the upset girl for a kiss. In less then a second the heiress responds, easily melting into the detective’s lips, the creases that had formed between her brows quickly softening. Blue eyes stare into green eyes, showing as much sincerity as they can muster.

“I don’t have any doubts that you have anything but good intentions Lexa. But in places like Arkadia, people aren’t very trusty of outsiders and we kind of aren’t big fans of wealthy folks from Polis. The town has had its fair share of problems with them, there are scars that take more than a few decades to heal.” 

Now visible more mellowed down, Lexa lifts her arm around Clarke’s body, pressing them closer together, before leaving a small kiss on Clarke’s jaw and nesting her face underneath it. It’s a gesture that feels far too intimate to Clarke, the softness of it bringing a smile to her face. They both had decided they didn’t want anything more than this, she reminds herself. Neither were ready. But then Lexa’s body would fit so well against her own that Clarke can’t help but wonder how she will manage to not let herself fall into the feeling.

“I understand. I just wish I could do something. For you, at the very least.” Lexa speaks after relaxing into her position, the warmth of her words hitting Clarke’s skin.

Clarke, suddenly, remember a way she could help without depositing money into the clinic, “Do you have any connections inside Polis Central Hospital? They were the ones who helped my mom at the time of construction and shit, but she gradually lost some of the connections she had with the doctors and administrates. I doubt she’ll be able to go to them for help without any outside influence.”

The woman nods, “I do, my family is a donor for the hospital, I know the director. I can try and arrange something.”

“That would be a great help already.” 

“I will need to go to Polis next weekend. I’ll give the director a call and set up a nice lunch with her, I’m sure she’ll be receptive if I’m the one to ask.”

Clarke smiles, pulling her closer and kissing her forehead, “Thank you, Lexa. Really.”

Seemingly satisfied with being allowed to help even if in the smallest of ways, Lexa reaches up to plant a small kiss on Clarke’s lips. 

“My pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone also wanted to wrap Raven in a blaket and hug her say I!  
> Seems everyone is slowly starting to open up to one another, wonder if that is going to make any friends with benefits relationship turn less friendly and more romantic? 👀
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing!  
> As always, feedback is more than welcomed! :D


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